. 

.,. ,.!;..- ......  lki  i..,^.,,f»i .. r. .,»-.■,. .,«.=  .-,,-                           ': ' '.'-^.v;-Vj 

' 

(CV*<S5S3?^ 


MUt^S 


k 


V**  £>**.£*.  t6 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

Microsoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/ancientspanishOOIockiala 


anttcnt 
IIPANISH    BALLADS; 

Tinstoncal  antr  llomantfc. 


TRANSLATED,  WITH  NOTES, 

BY    J.    G.    LOCKHART,    ESQ. 

A  EffXBW  HIBIHFIIOKr,  EtfgVnSIillDo 

WITH  AN  INTRODUCTORY  ESSAY 
THE   ORIGIN,    ANTIQUITY,    CHARACTER,    AND    INFLUENCE   OF    THE 

•ancient  Urrlln&s  of  Spain: 

AND  AN  ANALYTICAL  ACCOUNT,  WITH  SPECIMENS,  OF  THE 

liomancc  of  tfjc  ©fir. 


NE  W.YORK: 

jjfolLEY  AND  PUTNAM;  161,  BROADWAY. 


MDCCCXLDT. 


FEINTED    BY    WILLIAM   OSBOKN, 
*  88  WILLIAM-STREET. 


'■  RY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
SANTA  BARBARA 


ADVERTISEMENT  TO  THE  AMERICAN  EDITION. 


In  reproducing  the  English  version  of  the  Ancient  Spanish 
Ballads,  it  may  be  proper  to  observe  that  the  late  London 
edition  has  been  strictly  followed,  no  departure  whatever 
being  made  from  Mr.  Lockhart's  text.  To  add  to  the  in- 
terest of  the  volume,  the  spirited  article  from  the  Edinburgh 
Review  is  given,  by  way  of  Preliminary  Essay ;  an  analy- 
tical account  of  the  Romance  of  the  Cid,  with  specimen 
passages,  has  been  subjoined ;  and  at  the  end  has  been 
placed  a  Bibliographical  List,  prepared  for  the  present 
edition,  of  the  books  containing  the  original  Ballads,  and  of 
writings  pertaining  to  the  whole  subject. 


New-York,  December,  1841. 


Preliminary  Essat,  - 

Introduction,  - 

historical  EaUafcs. 

The  Lamentation  of  Don  Roderick, 

The  Penitence  of  Don  Roderick, 

The  March  of  Bernardo  del  Carpio, 

The  Complaint  of  the  Count  of  Saldana, 

The  Funeral  of  the  Count  of  Saldana, 

Bernardo  and  Alphonso, 

The  Maiden  Tribute, 

The  Escape  of  Count  Fernan  Gonzalez, 

The  Seven  Heads,        - 

The  Vengeance  of  Mudara,  ... 

The  Wedding  of  the  Lady  Theresa, 

The  Young  Cid,  - 

Ximena  demands  Vengeance, 

The  Cid  and  the  Five  Moorish  Kings, 

The  Cid's  Courtship, 

The  Cid's  Wedding, 

The  Cid  and  the  Leper,       - 

Bavieca,  ...  _ 

The  Excommunication  of  the  Cid, 

Garci  Perez  de  Varga,  - 

The  Pounder,         -  -  -  - 

The  Murder  of  the  Master, 

The  Death  of  Queen  Blanche, 

The  Death  of  Don  Pedro, 

The  Proclamation  of  King  Henry, 

The  Lord  of  Butrago,  ... 

The  King  of  Arragon, 

The  Vow  of  Reduan,         - 

The  Flight  from  Granada, 

The  Death  of  Don  Alonzo  of  Aguilar, 

The  Departure  of  King  Sebastian, 


1 
37 

51 

55 

58 

61 

63 

65 

67 

70 

75 

80 

82 

85 

87 

89 

91 

93 

95 

97 

99 

101 

105 

107 

112 

115 

120 

125 

127 

129 

131 

133 

137 


VI  CONTENTS. 

fttoon'sl)  iSallata. 

The  Bull-Fight  of  Gazul,               -  -      142 

The  Zegri's  Bride,        ...              ...  145 

The  Bridal  of  Andalla,        ...             -  -      147 

Zara's  Ear-Ringe,        ....              .  149 

The  Lamentation  for  Celin,            ....  .       151 

liomauttc  JSallatrs. 

The  Moor  Calaynos,  ......       155 

The  Escape  of  Gayferos,             .....  159 

Melisendra,            -              .....  -       161 

The  Lady  Alda's  Dream,          ....               -  163 

The  Admiral  Guarinos,         -                          -            -              -  -       165 

The  Lady  of  the  Tree,              ....              -  169 

The  Avenging  Childe,        .....  -       171 

Count  Arnaldos,           .....                 -  173 

Song  for  the  Morning  of  the  Day  of  St.  John  the  Baptist,       -  -       175 

Juliana,                .......  179 

The  Song  of  the  Galley,        -..--.       180 

The  Wandering  Knight's  Song,               ....  182 

Serenade,                ......  .       183 

The  Captive  Knight  and  the  Blackbird,            -  184 

Valladolid,        ....                .                -  -       186 

Dragut  the  Corsair,        ..----  187 

Count  Alarcos  and  the  Infanta  Solisa,         ...  .       188 

«Tijc  Romances  of  <£paftu 

The  Romance  of  the  Cid.— Part  First,           -            -            -  195 

The  Cid— Part  Second, 202 

The  Cid— Part  Third, -      208 

The  Cid— Part  Fourth,  ....  .215 

The  Cid— Part  Fifth,        ....             .  .220 

The  Cid— Part  Sixth,            ....                -  227 

The  Cid— Part  Seventh,            -                           -              -  -      231 

The  Cid— Part  Eighth,        ...                -                -  238 

The  Cid— Part  Ninth,                -            -                -  -      246 

The  Cid— Part  Tenth,        ...                .                -  254 

The  Cid.— Part  Eleventh,        -                            -                -  -      260 

The  Cid.— Part  Twelfth,            ....  265 


i 

< 

■ 

< 

< 

\ 

j 

> 

t      5 

_l 

0*     ♦ 


PRELIMINARY  ESSAY 

ON     THE    ORIGIN,    ANTIQUITY,   CHARACTER,   AND    INFLUENCE    OF    THE     ANCIENT    BALLADS    OF     SPAIN. 

Edinburgh  Review,  No.  146. 


The  sister  arts  of  poetry  and  design,  never  so  graceful  as  when  united, 
have  here  combined  to  enhance  the  previous  attraction  of  Mr.  Lockhart's 
Spanish  Ballads.  A  more  appropriately  as  well  as  beautifully  embellished 
volume  never  was  offered  to  the  world.  These  charming  records  of  an  age 
of  chivalry  and  romance,  are  now  brought  out,  like  the  restoration  of  some 
historical  drama  of  Shakspeare,  with  all  the  increased  effect  which  results 
from  a  well-directed  observance  of  scenery  and  costume  :  the  text  throughout 
is  accompanied  with  heraldic  and  ornamental  embellishments,  with  views  of 
localities  and  representations  of  subjects,  which  present  an  admirable  com- 
mentary on  the  stirring  stanzas.  The  names  of  the  artists  and  amateurs  by 
whom  these  fine  illustrations  are  furnished,  offer  in  themselves  a  guarantee 
that  truth  and  propriety  have  in  nowise  been  sacrificed  to  meretricious  effect, 
or  typographical  speculation,  which  is  too  much  the  order  of  the  day.*  The 
accessories  of  decoration  require  to  be  kept  in  strict  subservience  to  their 
principal,  or,  like  melody,  they  will  become  the  tyrants,  not  the  handmaids  of 
literature.  The  trash  of  our  opera  librettos,  and  the  glittering  nonsense  of  our 
annuals,  exhibit  sad  examples  of  this  tendency.  The  union  of  the  pencil  and 
graver  with  the  pen,  is  perfectly  legitimate,  provided  each  retains  its  proper 
place  and  rank.  A  doubled  impression  is  thereby  created  on  the  reader's 
mind,  when  the  abstract  is  invested  with  form  and  substance  by  the  reality 
of  a  drawing,  into  which,  a  portrait  mute  of  itself,  a  breath  of  life  and  mean- 
ing is  inspired  by  immortal  verse.  A  new  power  of  memory  is  thus  called 
into  action  ;  we  see  with  the  understanding,  and  read  as  if  we  were  actually 
transported  to  the  sites,  and  acquainted  with  the  heroes  of  Castile.     Picture 


*  These  remarks  refer  to  the  English  illustrated  edition. 


PRELIMINARY   ESSAY. 


and  Poem  act  reciprocally  on  each  other.  The  mind  seldom  forgets  what  has 
been  presented  in  a  striking  form  to  the  faithful  eye.  Again,  the  increased 
demand  for  these  illustrated  works — these  vehicles  of  purely  intellectual  gra- 
tification, evinces  and  sustains  an  improved  tone  of  public  taste.  Happy  the 
people  which  has  a  love  for  its  national  ballads — inexhaustible  springs  of  de- 
light, which  refresh  the  dry  path  of  daily  drudgery,  cheap  and  innocent  as  the 
joys  of  childhood.  They  make  a  stand  against,  and  correct  the  encroach- 
ments of  heartless,  selfish,  artificial  manners — they  elevate  man  above  the 
earthy  tendency  of  over-civilization,  of  cold  calculating  materialism,  by  chant- 
ing of  things  rare  and  stately,  yet  in  that  simple  style  which  touches  every 
heart  in  every  age,  because  the  language  and  sentiments  are  in  sympathy 
with  all  the  common  and  natural  affections  of  man. 

The  ballads  of  Spain,  albeit  sometimes  treating  on  subjects  which  hover  on 
the  confines  of  fiction,  present  on  the  whole  most  accurate  portraits  of  life 
and  manners  during  the  most  interesting  periods  of  her  history.  The  main- 
spring of  national  energy,  which  had  been  kept  in  motion  by  a  war  of  eight 
centuries  against  the  infidel  invader,  ceased  to  vibrate,  when  the  great  end 
was  accomplished  by  the  subjection  and  final  expulsion  of  the  Moor.  A  re- 
action ensued — a  moral  and  physical  stagnation  came  over  the  listless  con- 
querors, when  the  breeze  died  away,  which  by  ruffling  had  kept  the  waters 
sweet ;  civil  and  religious  despotism  saw  and  seized  the  moment,  so  advan- 
tageous to  itself  ;  and  whilst  the  people  of  Spain  were  giving  loose  to  the 
disarmed  intoxication  of  success,  the  giant  was  shorn  of  his  strength,  and 
awoke  from  the  lascivious  dream  emasculated  and  enslaved.  Castile,  like  her 
tree-stript  plains,  from  the  lack  of  the  nutriment  of  wholesome  institutions, 
withered  away.  A  curse  was  on  her  womb  ;  she  became  incapable  of  giving 
birth  to  men  who  should  do  deeds  worthy  to  be  had  in  remembrance,  as  well 
as  to  poets  whose  works  posterity  would  not  willingly  let  die.  This  melan- 
choly retrogression  of  a  noble  nation  increases  the  interest  of  these  relics  of 
her  better  times,  which  have  drifted  down  like  the  spars  of  a  storm- wrecked 
battle-ship.  In  this  contrast  between  former  pride  of  place  and  present  no- 
thingness, our  sympathy  is  still  more  awakened  when  the  change  is  borne 
with  uncomplaining  dignity.  Spain,  like  a  Porus,  dethroned  yet  conscious  of 
innate  royalty,  from  which  nought  can  derogate,  looks  down  with  self-respect 
on  the  changes  and  chances  of  fickle  fortune.  Although  now  the  mock  of 
Europe,  which  once  grew  pale  at  her  name,  she  is  still  the  chosen  land  of 
romance,  where  the  present  is  forgotten  in  the  past ;  where,  although  her 
harp  be  unstrung  and  her  sword  pointless,  the  tale  of  '  auld  langsym?  still  re- 
echoes amid  her  lonely  sierras  ;  where,  though  her  laurel- wreath  be  sere,  the 


PRELIMINARY   ESSAY. 


3 


many  flowers  which  still  enamel  her  uninhabited  wastes  attest  that  once  a 
garden  smiled. 

Spain  has  always  been  to  our  countrymen  not  merely  the  fancied  fairy 
ground  of — 

Le  donne,  i  cavalier,  l'arme,  gV  amori, 

Le  cortesie,  l'audaci  emprese  : 

being  the  nearest  point  of  crusade  against  the  Saracens,  it  was  the  real  land 
of  adventures, — antres  vast,  battles,  sieges,  fortunes.  Thus,  Thomas  of  Ercil- 
doun  recounts  that  his  true  knight,  Sir  Tristrem,  '  had  Spayne  thro'  seen, 
where  giantes  he  slew  three.'  Few  writers  of  romance,  from  the  Odyssey 
downward,  have  ventured  to  lay  the  scene  of  their  ultra-marvellous  events  at 
home,  where  all  would  perceive  the  want  of  truth  and  probability.  They  se- 
lected distant  lands  of  which  the  reader  knew  nothing,  and  might  believe  any 
thing.  Now  Spain,  in  the  possession  of  '  unchristened  heathen  houndes,' 
was  the  very  spot  for  moving  incident ;  while  the  heroic  deeds  of  our  Derbys, 
Salisburies,  and  Chaucerian  knights  who  fought  at  'Algecir,'  gave  to  the 
site  a  general  air  of  truth  and  interest  which  the  victories  of  the  Black  Prince 
and  Wellington  have  never  allowed  to  die  away.  Even  in  these  illusion-dis- 
pelling days,  much  of  the  charm  of  Spanish  travel  still  consists  in  the  ideal 
and  abstract,  in  the  pleasures  of  memory,  which  the  stranger  brings  with  him. 
This  alchemy  of  the  mind,  which  separates  the  ore  from  the  dross — this  bee- 
like power  which  extracts  honey  from  the  weed — neutralizes  the  discomforts 
that  beset,  on  every  side,  the  wayfaring  man.  This  vivifying  principle,  which 
renders  Spain  agreeable  in  proportion  as  the  traveller  is  imaginative,  scarcely 
exists  in  the  idiosyncrasy  of  the  native,  who  inspires,  vice  colis,  those  feelings 
in  others,  of  which  he  has  ceased  to  be  susceptible  himself.  It  is  only  by 
observing  the  value  attached  by  foreigners,  that  they  have  directed  some  at- 
tention to  their  long-neglected  ballads,*  which  tell,  and  exactly  as  we  should 
most  wish  it  to  be  told,  all  that  constitutes  the  soul  of  local  interest, — that 
religio  loci,  not  indeed  honored  in  its  own  country,  but  which  attracts  the 
stranger  from  Thule  and  Tanais,  from  the  Ganges  and  Niagara.  Those 
whose  good  fortune  may  lead  them  from  the  beaten  track  of  European  travel 
into  the  racy  byeways  of  original  Spain,  must  come  provided  beforehand  with 


*  Don  Agustin  Duran,  who  began  in  1828  to  republish  the  Spanish  ballads,  states  in 
his  Preface,  that  he  was  induced  to  do  so,  because  the  English  bought  up  the  originals, 
a  peso  d'oro.  He,  like  his  compeers,  seldom  does  more  than  translate  the  criticisms  of 
foreigners,  and  of  the  Germans  especially. 


4  PRELIMINARY   ESSAY. 

the  talisman  of  knowledge,  which  can  summon  up  the  departed  spirits  :  no 
information  is  to  be  gained  on  the  spot.  Eager  inquiries  are  chilled  by  the 
universal  indifference  and  ignorance ;  the  no  se  sabe  of  the  Gotho-Iberian.* 
Contemptuous  when  not  apathetic,  he  stands,  like  the  wild  Arab  amid  the 
palaces  of  Palmyra,  an  almost  necessary  foreground  to  the  deserted  Alhambra  ; 
yet  there  is  a  picturesqueness  and  repose  in  his  self-contented  bearing,  which 
better  harmonizes  with  the  desolation,  than  the  chattering  pretension  of  an 
Italian  cicerone. 

Bishop  Percy  was  the  first  to  call  our  own  countrymen  to  the  rich  mine  of 
their  ancient  popular  poetry.  '  The  taste  with  which  the  materials  were 
'  chosen,  the  extreme  felicity  with  which  they  were  illustrated,  the  display  at 
'  once  of  antiquarian  knowledge  and  classical  reading,  which  the  collection 
1  indicated,  render  it  difficult  to  imitate,  and  impossible  to  excel,  a  work  which 
'  must  always  be  held  among  the  first  of  its  class  in  point  of  merit.'  Such 
was  the  opinion  of  Walter  Scott,  who,  like  his  son-in-law,  Mr.  Lockhart,  by 
following  Percy's  example,  has  done  good  service  to  literature.  Many  Torsos, 
precious  as  the  Sappho  fragments  of  antiquity,  have  been  dug  up  from  the 
ruins  of  time,  and  restored  with  the  feeling  touch  of  a  master  hand.  Poets, 
historians,  critics,  and  antiquarians,  have  united  in  friendly  league ;  and  a 
revival  of  a  taste  for  simple  and  genuine  poetry  has  been  created  in  the  public 
mind.  Percy,  Ritson,  and  Ellis,  led  the  way  to  Bushing,  Von  der  Hagen, 
and  other  Germans,  who,  having  exhausted  their  own  ballads,  took  up  those 
of  Spain  with  their  characteristic  diligence.  Bouterwek  did  much  in  his  his- 
tory of  Spanish  literature  ;  he  was  succeeded  by  Grimm  and  Depping,  who 
published  collections  in  the  original  idiom,  to  which  the  latter  contributed  an 
able  dissertation  and  critique.  Mr.  Lockhart  has  avowedly  adopted  the  struc- 
ture of  verse  approved  of  by  Grimm,  and  the  classification  of  subjects  devised 
by  Depping.  He  has  improved  on  both,  by  rendering  the  best  of  their  selec- 
tions into  English  verse,  with  such  remarkable  spirit,  fidelity,  and  energy, 
that  Mr.  Hallam,  a  critic  not  prodigal  of  praise,  hesitates  not  to  say,  '  that 
'  the  originals  themselves  are  known  to  our  public,  but  generally  with  incon- 
'  ceivable  advantage,  by  these  very  fine  and  animated  translations.'  Mr. 
Lockhart's  success  rendered  the  subject  fashionable  :  we  have,  however,  no 
space  to  bestow  on  the  minor  fry  who  dabbled  in  these  Castilian  (and  cer- 


*  To  ttXuov  Sta  tj\v  o\iyuipiav — xai  to  jiri  rrpoj  Stayoiyt]",  (Strabo  iii.  248.  Ed.  Amel.) 
compare  Navagiero  "  II  Viaggio  in  Spagna,"  (15C3,  p.  25  et  ss.)  the  rapid  deterioration  of 
G.anada  under  Spanish  neglect  and  api^oxaXia. 


tainly  not  in  their  case  Castalian)  fountains.  Those  who  remember  their 
number,  may  possibly  deprecate  our  re-opening  the  floodgates  of  the  happily 
subsided  inundation.  There  is,  however,  a  cycle  in  literature  ;  human  no- 
tions and  opinions  come  round  at  stated  intervals,  like  the  tunes  of  a  barrel 
organ,  and  the  better  they  are,  the  more  likely  are  they  to  do  so — multa  re- 
nascentur  qua:  jam  cecidere.  The  republication  of  this  most  beautiful  volume 
seems  not  inaptly  to  suggest  a  recapitulation  of  the  best  opinions  on  the  origin, 
antiquity,  character,  and  influence  of  the  ancient  ballads  of  Spain. 

They  exceed  in  number  and  in  importance  those  of  all  Europe  besides, 
united  ;  they  form  the  best  heroic,  as  well  as  lyric,  poetry  of  Spain ;  and 
certainly,  to  the  stranger,  one  of  the  most  interesting  branches  of  her  limited 
literature.  They  are  not  merely  ballads,  but  historical  and  national  poems  : 
they  record  events  and  popular  notions  ;  they  give  details,  which  the  learned 
despised  or  omitted,  of  the  every-day  life  and  habits  ;  of  a  state  of  things  of 
which  we  know  little,  and  which  has  now  passed  away  for  ever ;  they  supply 
that  gap  which  at  present  is  the  most  eagerly  sought  for.  To  them  the  im- 
bruting  Inquisition  was  more  merciful  than  our  ruthless  Edward  to  the  lays 
of  the  Cambrian  minstrels.  It  encouraged  compositions  which,  like  chivalrous 
romances  in  prose,  had  a  tendency  to  seduce  thought  into  the  impracticable 
regions  of  '  La  magnanima  Mensogna,' — the  Qsiog  oveiqog  of  Homer,  in  which 
persons  and  things  are  above  the  ordinary  level  of  life.  It  well  knew  that 
the  habit  of  building  fairy  fabrics  in  unsubstantial  air,  would  unfit  the  mind 
for  the  severer  and  dangerous  questions  of  philosophical  and  constitutional 
inquiry,  which,  uncongenial  in  themselves  to  southern  nations,  would  become 
doubly  so  to  those  who,  by  rioting  on  the  lotus  banquet  of  Alcina,  forget 
country  and  liberty  itself.  In  these  romances  the  fettered  genius  of  the  land 
found  a  vent ;  and  there  is  ever  a  melancholy  note,  which  gives  an  undertone 
to  the  melody, — a  tear  with  every  smile,  saddening  mirth  and  gladdening 
sorrow.  Hence  they  were  written  and  read  much  longer  in  Spain  than  in 
other  countries  of  Europe.  Their  authors,  partially  exempt  from  the  pains 
and  penalties  of  censorship,  resembled  in  safety,  if  not  in  gayety,  the  Cicadse, 
whom  Demetrius,  seated  under  a  shady  plane  in  Cicero's  villa,  thought  so 
happy,  taught  by  the  muses  a  song,  which  never  subjected  them  to  accusation 
or  calumny.* 


*  (Philostr.  vii.  11.)  The  Cicadas,  according  to  Socrates,  (Plato,  Phoed.  x.  340,)  were 
once  mortal  men,  who,  on  the  birth  of  the  muses,  became  so  enraptured  with  poesy  that 
they  forgot  to  eat  and  drink,  and  were  metamorphosed  into  these  chirping  denizens  of 
summer.     Well  did  the  Spanish  Inquisition  understand  and  carry  out  this  myth. 


I 


PRELIMINARY   ESSAY. 


Not  only  in  the  multiplicity  of  her  ballade,  but  in  their  antiquity,  does 
Spain  surpass  all  other  nations.  Whatever,  in  their  modern  form,  may  be 
owing  to  Teutonic,  Christian,  and  Arabian  influences  operating  on  the  cor- 
rupted classics,  their  6tyle  of  metrical  composition  had  been  derived  long 
antecedently  from  the  East.  There  the  sun  of  every  thing  arose.  Thence 
the  stream  of  population,  knowledge,  and  religion,  flowed  westwards  in  two 
great  branches,  the  northern  and  the  southern.  However  the  angle  of  separa- 
tion widened  in  proportion  as  each  diverging  radius  was  pushed  forward  from 
the  starting  point ;  the  generic  oriental  type  has  been  clearly  traced  by  phi- 
lologists, who,  by  analyzing  languages,  have  tracked  the  progress  of  thought 
and  social  institutions,  of  which  language  is  the  certain  evidence  and  exponent. 
A  common  type  runs  northward  through  the  Brahminical  poems  of  the  Hin- 
doos ;  the  sacred  measures  taught  by  Zoroaster  to  the  Persians,  (Plin.  N.  H. 
xxx.  1 ;)  the  odin  saga  of  the  Scandinavian  scalds  ;  the  versified  annals  of  the 
Germans,  (Tacit,  de  Ger.  3  ;)  the  isoterical  hymns  of  the  Druids,  too  sacred 
to  be  committed  to  writing,  (Caesar,  Bell.  Gall.  vi.  13.)  And  again,  south- 
wards, through  the  hierarchical  literature  of  the  Chaldseans,  Egyptians, 
Hebrews,  and  Phoenicians,  to  the  primitive  metrical  poems  of  the  aboriginal 
Iberians.  These,  it  is  historically  certain,  existed  before  Greece  emerged 
from  barbarism,  or  Rome  was  founded.  When  Lope  de  Vega  observed  that 
there  were  Iliads  in  Spain  without  a  Homer,  he  might  also  have  added  that 
they  existed  before  '  the  blind  old  man  of  Scio's  rocky  isle'  was  born.  The 
ancients  paid  great  attention  to  Spain,  which,  being  their  Peru,  was  a  subject 
of  interest  to  their  avarice.  Among  other  things,  Strabo  tells  us  that  the 
Turdetani  (the  Andalusians)  possessed  early  memorials  in  writing,  and  pre- 
served metrical  poems  and  laws  of  six  thousand  years  old,  (iii.  204.)  The 
cautious  geographer  qualifies,  with  a  saving  <hg  cpaoi,  this  date,  which  would 
carry  the  Turdetanian  Homers  many  centuries  beyond  the  creation.  Since 
Pliny,  speaking  of  the  antiquity  of  the  similar  poems  of  Zoroaster,  uses  the 
same  date,  '  sex  millibus  annorum,'  these  definite  terms  simply  refer  to  an 
indefinite  remoteness ;  just  as  Spaniards  say,  *  diez  mil  reales'  for  any  con- 
siderable sum  of  money.  Probably  the  text  is  corrupt ;  and,  although  Strabo 
did  not  write  in  Arabic  numbers,  an  additional  cipher  converts  600  into  6000. 
We  would  suggest  the  reading  H-axooiwv  erwv  for  ^axia%th(ov. 

One  thing  is  quite  clear,  that  these  Spanish  ballads  were  extremely  an> 
cient.  That  the  Andalusians  of  old  should  wish  to  make  them  out  older,  is 
quite  in  keeping  with  the  pedigree  pretensions  of  their  unchanged  descend- 
ants. St  Isidore  and  the  Goths  referred  the  invention  of  these  'cantilenas' — 
these  canciones — to  Moses ;  while  a  Spaniard,  writing  in  1612,  positively 


PRELIMINARY   ESSAY. 

contends  that  Tubal,  son  of  Japhet,  and  grandson  to  Noah,  arrived  in  Spain 
140  years  after  the  Deluge,  and  2163  years  before  the  birth  of  Christ,  and 
gave  the  natives  '  a  code  of  laws  in  couplets.'*  From  this  historian's  not 
having  quoted  chapter  and  verse,  we  cannot  determine  (perhaps  the  Law 
Magazine  may)  whether  this  Deuteronomy  repealed  or  re-enacted  all  or  any 
of  the  Antediluvian  Andalusian  statutes  at  large.  Those  mentioned  by  Strabo, 
which  are  the  only  set  worthy  of  our  present  consideration,  were  doubtless 
imported  by  the  Phoenicians,  who  traded  with  Tarshish,  and  founded  Cadiz 
350  years  before  Rome.f  These  exporters  of  letters  were  the  only  people 
with  whom  the  Jews  never  quarrelled,  because  the  granaries  of  Tyre  were 
supplied  from  the  corn-fields  of  Judaea.  Speaking  a  cognate  language,  they 
must  have  known  the  metrical  portions  of  the  Old  Testament,  and  the  other 
works  of  men  who,  in  the  words  of  Solomon,  (the  partner  of  their  king 
Hiram,)  •  were  famous  of  old,  such  as  found  out  musical  tunes,  and  recited 
'  verses  in  writing,'  (Eccles.  xliv.  5.) — *  Pii  vates  et  Phcebo  digna  locuti,'  the 
natural  authors  of  a  primitive  age.  In  nascent  societies  of  mankind,  as  in  the 
youth  of  individuals,  the  imagination  precedes  the  judgment  Men  are  born 
poets,  and  lisp  in  verse  :  they  harden  into  prose — into  the  exact  sciences — 
as  they  get  older,  when  the  head  gains  on  the  heart.  The  name  of  the  in- 
ventor of  poetry  and  of  the  plough,  which  is  poetical,  is  unknown.  Not  so 
that  of  the  culprit  who  devised  prose,  Pherecydes  the  Syrian,  (Plin.  N.  H. 
vii.  56,)  nor  of  the  inventor  of  the  steam-engine  and  spinning-jenny  ;  excel- 
lent machines,  which  make  every  thing  but  verses.  In  the  early  stages  of 
society,  the  feelings,  those  inlets  of  ideas,  are  in  full  play  :  violently  excited, 
they  fall  into  a  sort  of  language,  energetic  as  themselves  ;  thoughts  are  dra- 
matized by  action  ;  by  imitation,  expression,  which  is  the  essence  of  poetry. 
Again,  mere  verse  has  a  charm  on  the  ear ;  and,  being  best  suited  for  memory, 
becomes  the  natural  frame  of  oral  records,  whether  of  law,  history,  or  religion. 
Hence  the  power  of  knowledge  was  first  wielded  by  those  who  ■  declared 
prophecies,'  idem  rex  atque  sacerdos,  whether  a  Melchisedec,  a  Sychseus,  or 
a  David.  These  wise  men  of  old  added  to  their  severer  influence  the  charm 
of  pleasing  ;  they  invented  popular  talesj  which  still,  among  the  Orientals, 
supply  the  want  of  intellectual  refinement.     To  them  (as  to  those  of  Pilpay) 

*  Did  les  leyes  en  coplas.  Salazar  de  Mendoza.  Origen  de  las  dignidades  de  Es- 
paiia,  p.  2. 

t  Heeren,  Hist.  Researches,  ii.  49. 

X  Compare  the  Arreytos  or  ancient  ballads  of  the  aboriginal  West  Indians  when  dis- 
covered by  Columbii9,  (W.  Irving,  ii.  124.) 


8  PRELIMINARY  ESSAY. 

many  of  our  best-known  stories  may  be  traced,  for  the  world  gets  on  with  a 
small  supply  of  originality  ;  and  it  is  far  easier  to  borrow,  adapt,  and  exagge- 
rate, than  to  invent.  The  most  improbable  romances  were,  are,  and  will  be, 
listened  to  with  rapture  by  those  whose  inexperience  is  not  startled  by  devia- 
tions from  truth  and  nature  :  thus,  a  painted  doll  affords  a  wilder  delight  to 
the  child  than  the  masterpieces  of  Michael  Angelo.  Men  are  but  children  of 
a  larger  growth,  and,  according  to  the  old  complaint  of  Jeremiah,  like  to  be 
deceived  even  with  false  prophecies.  In  truth,  the  constitution  of  the  human 
mind  requires  a  something  marvellous  and  savoring  of  a  better  world.  This 
yearning,  if  it  be  not  gratified  by  legitimate  practitioners,  will  be  drugged  by 
empirics,  who  thrive  on  the  craving  for  supernatural  stimulant.  This  intel- 
lectual intoxication  has  been  regularly  supplied  to  the  Spaniards  ever  since 
poetry,  which  one  of  the  old  fathers  calls  '  Devil's  wine,'  was  introduced  into 
Tarshish,  as  we  collect  from  Don  Salazar,  by  the  grandson  of  the  first  planter 
of  the  real  grape. 

Ballads  withstood  the  Roman  occupation.  The  Turdetani,  it  is  true,  adopted 
the  tongue  and  toga  of  their  masters,  (Strabo  iii.  254,)  as  the  Andalusians  did 
the  language  and  coats  of  the  French, '  idque  apud  imperitos  humanitas  voca- 
1  batur  cum  pars  servitutis  esset.'  Although  they  were  ashamed  of  their  na- 
tive muse,  the  rude  Gallician  continued  to  'howl  his  national  ballad  after  the 
1  manner  of  his  fathers,'  (Silius  Ital.  iii.  346  ;)  while  the  fastidious  Quinc- 
tilians  of  Rome  '  balladed  out  of  tune,'  shunned  these  Iberian  strains,  as  our 
Laureat  did  the  cacophonous  Russian,  '  which  no  man  can  read,  no  man  can 
'  spell ;'  they  talked  of  their  intonation,  as  Erasmus  did  of  the  English,  '  lat- 
'.  rare  verius  quam  loqui  videntur.'  Strabo  and  Pliny  would  not  even  tran- 
scribe these  barbarous  unmusical  appellations.*  Martial,  nevertheless,  was 
Spaniard  enough  to  advise  Licinius,  a  native  Romancero,  to  stick  to  them, 
although  thought  by  '  delicate  readers'  to  be  '  rustica,'  (iv.  55,)  the  precise 
term  used  afterwards  by  the  erudite  to  designate  the  romance  dialect.  Those 
Italians,  however,  who  sought  for  the  beautiful  every  where,  were  struck 
with  the  oriental  grandiloquence,  the  '  pingue  quiddam  atque  peregrinum,' 
which  Seneca,  (de  Suas.  i.  6,)  quoting  Cicero,  thought  characteristic  of  Ena, 
one  of  the  sons  of  '  Facunda'  Cordoba,  the  birth-place  of  Lucan  and  others, 
who  sustained  the  declining  literature  of  Rome  itself ;  and  from  whose  works, 
although  written  in  Latin,  a  strange  tongue  to  them,  we  must  look  for  the 
real  and  still  unchanged  diagnostics  of  the  Iberian  muse :  a  fragment  has  in- 
deed escaped  in  the  native  idiom  of  the  most  ancient  Spanish  relique  in  exist- 


PRELIMINARY   ESSAY. 


9 


ence.  Humboldt,  when  in  the  Basque  provinces  collecting  materials  for  his 
work  on  the  aboriginal  inhabitants,*  met  with  sixteen  stanzas,  which  had  been 
discovered  by  Ibarguen,  in  MSS.  at  Simancas.  It  is  a  mountaineer  ballad  of 
the  time  of  Augustus,  and  scarcely  less  musical  than  those  Burw  and  Bhubs, 
Welsh  rhymes,  according  to  Mr.  Conybeare,  and  most  sweet  to  his  ears,  and 
to  those  of  Cadwallader  and  his  goats.  It  is  a  lament  over  Lelo,  a  Biscayan 
chief,  murdered  on  his  return  from  the  wars,  by  his  wife,  who  had  formed  a 
connexion  with  Zara.  It  consists,  like  the  modern  Seguidilla,  of  couplets  of 
four  verses ;  the  three  first  are  pentasyllable,  the  fourth  is  shorter,  and 
serves  as  the 'estrevillo,' the  burden  or  binding  chorus.  It  contains  traces 
of  both  rhyme  and  assonant ;  it  is  still  intelligible  to  the  Basque.  Humboldt 
found  old  people  who  remembered  a  song  •  Leluan  Lelo,'  which,  like  the 
'  Hie  down  derry  down,'  the  modern  version  of  the  '  Hai  doun  is  derry  dauno,' 
'  Come,  let  us  hasten  to  the  oaken  grove.'  The  Druidical  (dyvg)  invocation  is 
another  proof  how  vestiges  of  ancient  manners  are  every  now  and  then  to  be 
found  lurking  beneath  conventional  expressions  the  most  frivolous,  and  appa- 
rently the  most  unmeaning  ;f  but  the  customs  of  the  people  will  outlive  the 
Pyramids.  As  Mr.  Lockhart  has  not  translated  this  ancient  relique,  we  must 
refer  our  readers  to  Adelung,}:  just  remarking  that  it  is  almost  a  type  both  of 
a  modern  Spanish  ballad  and  of  actual  Basque  warfare.  The  Romans,  it  ap- 
pears thereby,  were  in  possession  only  of  the  plains,  while  the  Cantabrians 
held  the  hills  :  they  were  subdued  more  by  stratagem  and  want  of  provisions, 
than  by  the  superior  discipline,  force,  and  weapons  of  Augustus ;  and  even 
then  the  Basque  highlanders  remained  unconquered,  while  '  Rome,  like  an 
'  elm  bored  by  the  continual  woodpecker,  was  undermined.'  The  secret  of 
Basque  independence  is  indeed  unchanged  and  unchangeable  :  those  sterile 
hills,  if  defended  by  brave  men,  who  have  more  to  fear  from  the  gold  than 
from  the  iron  of  their  opponents,  cannot  be  conquered  by  a  small  army,  while 
a  larger  one  would  be  starved. 

Thus  we  see  that  the  native  Iberian  muse,  delighted  in  her  primeval  and 
always  popular  ballads.  Meanwhile,  the  rise  of  Christianity,  and  the  sub- 
version of  the  Roman  empire,  by  the  Teutonic  irruption,  was  preparing  an 
entire  change  in  the  manners  and  language ;  literature,  generally  at  a  low 
ebb,  became  an  appanage  of  the  Christian  clergy,  who,  in  the  early  struggle 
against  paganism,  naturally  drew  a  line  of  demarcation  between  sacred  and 

*  Priifung  uber  die  urbewohner  Hispaniens. — Berlin,  1821. 

t  Dauney — Ancient  Scottish  Melodies,  p.  43. 

X  Mithridates,  iv.  354.     Vater,  Ed.  Berlin,  1S17. 


10  PRELIMINARY   ESSAY. 

profane  learning.  They  monopolized  letters  and  made  them  ecclesiastical. 
In  the  fourth  century,  Juvencus,  a  Spaniard,  translated  the  New  Testament 
into  hexameters  :  he  was  the  first  Christian  poet ;  he  was  succeeded  by  Pru- 
dentius  of  Zaragoca*  (or  Calahorra,)  whose  Peristephanon,  written  in  con- 
tinuous octosyllabic  metre,  looks  and  reads  like  the  redondilla  of  a  modern 
'cantion  de  devotion.'  These  early  hymns  are  considered  by  Bouterwek  to 
be  the  connecting  link  between  the  ancient  song  and  modern  ballad.  Saint 
Jerome,  the  doctor  maximus  and  prose  translator  of  his  age,  thought  these 
new  versions  of  the  Spaniards  to  be  somewhat  bold  :  '  non  pertinuit,'  says  he 
of  Juvencus,  (Amos,  5,)  'evangelii  majestatem  sub  metri  leges  mittere.' 
The  Spaniards,  whose  character  has  always  been  tinctured  with  the  mystic 
and  superstitious,  delighted  and  excelled  in  these  Isqu  fieXr} — sacred  melodies 
which  their  dignified  religion  upheld  :  those  of  Calderon  and  of  the  tender 
elegant  Leon  (justly  called  the  Christian  Horace)  deserve  the  attention  of 
the  gifted  author  of  the  Christian  Year.  So  early  as  1495,  a  devotional  can- 
cionero  was  published  at  Zaragoca,  by  Martin  Martinez  de  Ampies.  The 
incongruity  of  developing  sacred  subjects  in  ballads  and  mysteries,  was  never 
felt  until  after  the  Reformation,  which  attacked  them  with  ridicule.  The 
rabbi  Don  Santo  de  Carrion,  entitled  his  'Divina  Comedia'  '  la  doctrina  Chris- 
tiana y  danza  general.'  A  ballad  then,  says  our  Watts,  signified  a  solemn 
and  sacred  song,  when  Solomon's  Cantilena  was  called  the  ballad  of  ballads. 
Such  compositions,  aided  by  the  influence  which  church  music  possesses  over 
sensitive  temperaments,!  animated  religious  feelings ;  and  conveyed  to  the 
people,  to  whom  the  Bible  was  forbidden,  some  transcript  of  its  grandeur,  not 
altogether  stripped  of  the  allurements  of  this  world ;  for  the  Roman  Catho- 
licity of  Spain  never  was  that  pure  Christianity  which  Johnson  pronounced 
to  be  too  simple  for  eloquence,  too  sacred  for  fiction,  too  majestic  for  orna- 
ment :  dramatic,  nay,  melo-dramatic,  it  restored  the  gorgeous  show,  the  mar- 

*  Juvencus,  see  Antonio,  Bib.  Vet.  i.  64.  Zaragoca,  (Caesar  Augusta)  was  the  Gothic 
Aberdeen,  the  '  ancient  city  of  bon  accord,'  where,  according  to  old  Forbes,  there  '  was  a 
perpetual  harmonious  heavenly  concert  of  as  many  musicians  as  magistrates.'  Prudentius 
gives  eigbteen  fiddlers  all  in  a  row. 

Tu  decern  santos  revehes  et  octo 

Caesar  Augusta,  studiosa  Cbristi. 

t  Thus  Andrew  Hart,  in  the  hope  of  uniting  religious  edification  with  musical  recrea- 
tion, republished  in  1621,  '  Ane  compendious  booke  of  godly  and  spiritual  sangs  collectit 
out  of  sundrie  pairts  of  Scripture,  with  sundrie  of  other  ballates  changed  out  of  profane 
sangs  for  avoyding  of  sinne  and  harlotrie,  with  augmentation  of  sundrie  gude  and  godly 
ballates  not  contained  in  the  first  edition,'  that  of  1590. 


PRELIMINARY   ESSAY. 


11 


vellous  legends,  the  ■  Speciosa  miracula,'  the  theopathy  and  polytheism  of 
the  Pagans ;  it  formed  in  Spain  from  the  beginning,  the  theme  of  Christian 
minstrels.  Merobantes,  Draconcio,  and  others,  tuned  their  harps  to  psalmo- 
dies, and  composed  verses  in  base  Latinity  and  in  worse  prosody ;  the  true 
pronunciation  and  artificial  rules  depending  on  the  relative  position  and  quan- 
tity of  vowels  and  consonants,  were  too  fine  for  their  ears,  and  hybrid  idiom. 
A  substitute  was  provided  in  alliteration,  in  leonine  verses  and  rhyme,  in  the 
very  dfioiorslsviov  which  was  so  avoided  by  the  ancient  classics ;  the  laws 
of  metre  afforded  a  matter  of  inquiry  among  the  learned  Goths,  as  those  of 
the  Greek  chorus  did  to  our  Porsons.  San  Isidore,  in  the  seventh  century, 
'he  that  was  so  wyse,'  defined  them  with  the  nicety  of  the  Eton  grammar, 
(Origines,  i.  38.)  The  Gothic  public  was  too  enlightened  to  be  amused  with 
those  very  fine  things,  which  required  so  much  pointing  out.  Vox  populi, 
DEI  vox.  Accordingly,  clerical  learning  gave  way  ;  Valerius,  a  bishop  of 
Wamba's,  (the  Japetus  of  Spanish  auld  langsyne,)  wrote  a  perfect  octosyllabic 
poem  in  rhyme.  The  good  prelate  indeed  called  it  a  '  prosa,'  just  as  Gonzalo 
de  Berceo,  in  the  thirteenth  century,  did  his  metrical  romance. 

'  Quiero  fer  una  prosa  en  Roman  paladino.' 

If  in  these  dark  ages,  (as  sometimes  will  happen  even  in  more  enlightened,) 
things  were  written  in  verse  which  would  have  done  equally  well  in  prose, 
the  Gothic  reviewers  must  have  felt  relieved  by  the  candor  of  their  authors, 
reos  et  conjitentes. 

The  Saracenic  invasion  accelerated  these  prosodaical  changes  ;  the  Arabs, 
having  nothing  to  do  with  the  Greek  and  Roman  languages  or  scanning,  had 
long  moulded  their  own  and  its  forms  ;  Cassini  has  pointed  out  the  differences 
and  resemblances  between  the  lyric  poetry  of  the  Moor  and  Castilian.*  The 
latter  recurred  readily  to  their  original  Oriental  stock.  Cordova  continued 
to  be  the  Delphi  of  the  Peninsula ;  while  the  sterner  Goths  retired  to  the 
rugged  Asturias,  the  spaniel-like  Andalusians  preferred,  under  the  mild  tolera- 
tion of  the  Moors,  their  delicious  south.  These  Mos- Arabic  Christians,  (mixti 
Arabi,)  '  while  not  one  in  a  thousand  knew  their  Latin,'  delighted  in  '  Chaldean 
'  pomps,  metres,  and  rhymes,'  to  the  horror  of  the  good  Goths  of  the  old  ' 
school.  The  sorrows  of  Alvarus  have  been  preserved  by  Flores,f  how  '  the  ; 
Christian  youth,  carried  aloft  by  Oriental  •  eloquence,'  '  Arabico  eloquio  sub-    j 


*  Bib.  Arabiea  Escurialensis,  i.  83. 
t  Flores  Espana  Sagrada,  xi.  275. 
p.  13. 


Velasquez  Origen  de  la  Poesia  Castellana, 


12 


PRELIMINARY   ESSAY. 


'  limati,'  •  neglected  the  streams  of  paradise  which  flowed  from  the  Church.' 
St.  Eulogius  had  carried  on  a  ballad  correspondence, '  rythmicis  versions,' 
with  Alvarus  himself,  and  thought  it  sweeter  than  beans  and  honey,  *  melle 
•  suavius,  fabis  jucundius.'  Pure  prosody  and  Latinity  could  stand  no  longer  ; 
from  its  ruins  arose  the  '  Romance,'  the  foundation  of  the  modern  languages 
of  Europe.  The  present  limited  signification  is  quite  secondary,  and  origi- 
nated from  those  peculiar  writings,  the  great  feature  of  modern  literature,  in 
which  the  Romance  was  first  employed.  The  term  still  continues  in  Spanish 
to  be  synonymous  with  the  Castilian  language,  nor  is  it  inapplicable  to  their 
braggadocio  paper  achievements  ;  while  elsewhere,  '  to  romance'  has  become 
equivalent  to  certain  deviations  from  matter  of  fact.  The  abuse  of  a  term 
argues,  however,  its  former  extended  use.  Mr.  Ellis  has  correctly  defined  it 
to  be,  •  all  the  dialects  of  the  European  provinces  of  the  empire,  of  which 
the  basis  was  the  vulgar  Latin,  whatever  other  materials  may  have  entered 
into  the  composition.'  Mr.  G.  C.  Lewis,*  (who  has  exhausted  the  subject,) 
adopting  the  opinion  of  Schlegel,  completely  disproves  the  theory  of  Monsieur 
Raynouard,  that  the  Provencal  alone  was  this  •  Romance,'  and  that  it  was 
one  and  the  same  language  all  over  Europe :  certainly  it  was  every  where 
in  some  respects  the  same,  being  founded  in  the  Latin  and  Teutonic  ;  but  it 
varied  in  each  country,  and  often  in  each  province  of  each  country.  The 
common  appellation  referred  to  origin,  not  to  identity,  which  diminished  as 
each  nation  carried  out  and  improved  their  particular  dialect  of  it :  the 
Spanish  romance  arose  from  the  Gothic  conquest,  and  not  from  the  Provencals, 
by  whom  Spain  was  never  subdued,  and  the  language  of  a  people  is  little 
influenced  by  foreign  literature.  Precisely  in  the  manner  by  which  the  Latin 
was  formed  of  the  Hellenic,  and  barbarous  Oscan  or  Italian  element,  so  the 
'  Romance'  was  begotten  by  the  Teutonic  on  the  Latin,  which  perished  in 
giving  it  birth.  The  mass  of  the  people  were  called  •  Romans'  by  their  inva- 
ders, and  the  new  language  *  Roman,'  from  having  a  greater  affinity  to  Latin ; 
conquerors  and  conquered  met  half  way  ;  the  former,  who  wielded  the  sword 
better  than  the  pen,  yielded  to  their  intellectual  superiors,  as  the  Romans  had 
before  to  the  Greeks.  They  made  the  nearest  approach  to  the  Latin  in  their 
power,  just  as  foreigners  do  with  strange  languages  ;  they  caught  at  words 
and  roots,  with  a  marvellous  disregard  of  grammar  and  prosody  ;  a  compro- 
mise was  soon  effected,  and  a  hybrid  language  generated — a  lingua  Franca, 
in  which  both  parties  could  communicate.     The  progress  of  language,  when 


Essay  on  the  Origin  of  the  Romance  Language.     1835. 


PRELIMINARY   ESSAY. 


13 


not  fixed  by  a  written  literature,  is  to  discard  the  synthetic  forms,  inflexions    j 
by  terminations,  and  to  adopt  the  analytic  by  resolving  every  idea  into  its    i 
component  parts.     The  niceties  of  cases,  genders,  and  declensions,  were  too    ! 
refined  for  the  illiterate  Goths  :  a  change  of  structure  and  syntax  ensued  ;    ! 
cases  were  supplied  by  prepositions,  declensions  by  auxiliary  verbs,  a  new    ] 
stock  of  Teutonic  words  was  introduced, — the  dictionary  was  enriched  while    j 
the  grammar  was  deteriorated,  the  substance  improved  while  the  form  was    ; 
broken  up.     This  convenient  middle  idiom  led  to  the  neglect  by  either  party    ! 
of  the  original  language  of  the  other ;  the  unwritten  speech  of  the  conquerors    ! 
was  forgotten,  while  the  Latin  was  preserved  in  the  ritual  of  the  Church,  and    ! 
in  the  tribunals.     It  ceased,  however,  to  be  the  spoken  language  of  the  many,    j 
insomuch  that,  in  the  ninth  century,  the  clergy  were  enjoined  to  be  able  to    : 
\translate  their  homilies  into  the  Romance  for  the  benefit  of  the  laity  ;  hence 
it  came  to  be  considered  the  vulgar  in  contradistinction  to  the  learned  :  the 
romantic  is  still  opposed  to  the  classical  style,  and  a  '  scholar'  emphatically 
means  one  skilled  in  the  dead  languages.     The  clergy,  the  only  penmen,! 
would  not  condescend  to  preserve  the  lay  productions  of  a  despised  dialect ;' 
hence  in  every  country  the  non-existence  of  their  earliest  literature,  which? 
probably  was  of  no  great  merit,  although  suited  to  the  age  and  occasion,  et 
auribus  islius  lemporis  accommodate.*     Poverty  of  spoken  language  is  always 
I  a  bar  to  letters  ;  until  the  mother  tongue  be  moulded  sufficiently,  learned  men 
j  will  resort  to  a  more  adequate  foreign  idiom.     Under  these  disadvantages, 
'  nothing  original  or  of  a  high  class  is  likely  to  be  produced. 

The  first  impulse  towards  modern  literature  was  given  by  the  Provencal, 
which  is  the  most  appropriate  term  for  the  language  of  the  troubadour.  The 
southern  province  of  Gaul,  '  Provincia'  par  excellence,  was  exempted  from 
those  wars  by  which  Europe  and  Spain  especially  were  brutalized.  Peace 
led  to  affluence,  leisure,  and  those  arts  which  humanize  and  civilize.  The 
Provencal  language,  from  being  the  first  formed,  long  became  a  standard  ;  it 
was,  however,  but  the  flowerings  of  Spring,  which  die  in  announcing  the 
fruits  of  Autumn.  Founded  on  the  Latin,  yet  owing  nothing  to  the  Augustan 
style,  it  was  only  for  a  period,  not  for  all  time  ;  for  no  soil  can  be  permanently 
fruitful  unless  enriched  with  the  precious  loam  of  classical  lore.  No  Dante/ 
arose  to  immortalize  the  language.  The  butterfly  ephemeral  prattle  of  courtsl 
and  minstrels,  has  relapsed  into  a  mere  patois.    It  opened,  however,  in  a  < 


*  An  apology  is  prefixed  by  the  clerical  transcriber  to  the  Bodleian  copy  of  the  Chateau 
d1  Amour,  '  Et  quamvis  lingua  Romana  (Romance)  coram  clericos,  saporem  suavitatis 
'  non  habeat,  tamen  pro  laicis,  qui  minus  intelligunt,  opusculum  illud  aptum  est.' 


14 


PRELIMINARY   ESSAY. 


poesy  dedicated  to  Venus,  rising  like  its  patroness  from  the  foam  of  the  placid 
blue  Mediterranean,  under  a  genial  climate,  gilded  with  a  ray  of  sunshine 
from  the  east.  Courts  of  love  were  established,  wherein  amorous  affairs, 
'  tensiones,'  were  debated,  where  the  Ovidian  arts  were  revived  in  the  gay 
science,  '  el  gay  saber.'  This  theme,  grateful  to  all  ages,  which  sung  of 
1  dames,  and  knights,  of  arms,  and  love's  delights  ;'  where  princes  pleaded, 
and  beauty,  dispensing  golden  violets,  decided  without  appeal,  appeared 
doubly  fascinating  to  an  age  awakening  from  the  heavy  slumber  of  long 
hours  of  darkness.  Poesy,  with  her  twin  sister  Music,  revived  in  her  old 
occupation  of  ballad.  To  be  able  to  accompany  verse  with  melody,  was  one 
of  the  common  requisites  of  the  Athenian  xalog  xat,  ayadog  and  of  the 
mediaeval  hidalgo.  It  was  the  relaxation  of  the  Homeric  heroes  ;  for  the 
really  brave  have  always  a  tendency  to  the  soft  emotions  which  poesy  sup- 
plies. Thus  Achilles,  crossed  in  love,  solaced  himself  with  his  lyre,  aside 
d'  aqa  xlea  avdqwv  (II.  i.  189,)  singing  the  fyttes  the  cantos  of  the  gests  of 
Hercules,  who  was  to  him  what  Achilles  was  to  the  dark  ages,  the  beau  ideal 
of  a  preux  chevalier. 
And  here  we  may  say  a  word  on  the  close  connexion  between  modern  and 
|  ancient  romance,  new-hatched  to  the  woful  times.*  Hercules  and  his  like, 
I  went  about  abating  nuisances,  destroying  giants  and  monsters,  exhibiting  the 
chivalrous  mixture  of  virtue  and  vice,  and  of  both  equally  exaggerated.  They 
\were  Orlalm^s^res¥ed^lTGreque^  Folypnemus  was  the~firodel  of  Rithon, 
who  made  himself  a  bed  of  kings'  beards,  and  was  killed  by  Arthur  ;  and  of 
Ferragus,  the  Spanish  giant  despatched  by  '  Rowlande'  while  taking  his 
siesta ;  Calypso,  Medea,  Circe,  and  the  Sirens,  were  the  prototypes  of  the 
Urgandas  and  Alcinas,  as  Pegasus  was  of  the  Hippogryphs,  and  Bucephalus 
was  of  Babieca.  The  challenges  of  Sciron  and  Antaeus,  shadowed  out  the 
holdings  at  outrance,  '  los  pasos  honrosos  ;'  just  as  the  sophists  of  Greece  led 
the  way  to  the  scholastic  wranglers,  who  permitted  no  man  to  pass  by  without 
a  logomachy,  which,  being  interpreted  into  the  rustica,  means  having  a  few 
I  words.  History  is  but  a  successionofparallels, — the  01ympicjjameg_created 
'  Pindars,  the  tournaments  created  Troubadours.      The  latter  rendered  the 


*  Euripides  makes  Theseus  choose  the  profession  of  knight-errant  redresser  of  wrongs, 


E0os  ro<5'  £ij  'EXXrji/aj  c^c\e^ajit]v 
An  KoAaoTijf  tuv  kolkwv  KaQtaravai. 


Iket.  34. 


See  Letters  of  Chivalry,  Hurd.  iii.  230. 


PRELIMINARY   ESSAY. 


15 


greatest  service  to  the  despised  literature,  which  required  the  countenance 
of  men  of  arms  in  a  rude  warlike  age,  when  personal  prowess  and  courage 
were  the  attributes  most  in  honor.  Thus  Achilles  was  then  a  more  popular 
character  than  Hector,  in  whom,  as  civilization  advances,  new  beauties  are 
felt,  which  had  shone  before  like  stars,  bright  but  unobserved.  •  Rowlande, 
'  Alysandre,  Achilles,  Bevis,  and  Hercules,'  are  classed  together  by  our  earlier 
poets,  'as  good  knightes  and  trewe,  of  whose  dedes  men  make  Romauns.' 
The  Gesta  Alexandri,  Ricardi,  with  the  Gesta  Romanorum,  were  the  story- 
books of  the  dark  ages.  Richard,  the  patron  of,  and  patronised  by  the  min- 
strel, owed  his  liberty  and  life,  and  his  subsequent  renown,  to  his  troubadour 
accomplishments  ;  the  grandson  of  his  sister,  Alphonso  el  Sabio,  if  not  really 
wise,  did  much  for  learning  :  by  discarding  Latin  from  the  law  tribunals,  and,  - 
by  causing  chronicles  to  be  written  in  the  vulgar  tongue,  he  fixed  the  Spanish 
language.  This,  springing  from  the— north-western  provinces,  was  founded 
on  the  Latin,  with  the  '  Bable,'  (the  still  spoken  '  rustica'  of  the  Asturias,) 
and  the  Gallician.  The  pride  of  the  Castilians  rejected  the  softer  idiom  of 
inferior  provinces,  while  their  jealousy  of  Arragon  excluded  the  more  perfect 
Provencal ;  •  el  Castellano'  came  to  signify,  as  it  still  does,  the  language  of 
Spain,  that  manly  eldest  son  of  the  Latin,  of  which  the  softer  Italian  is  the 
daughter.  Alphonso,  a  versifier  rather  than  a  poet,  wrote  couplets  to  the 
Virgin  in  the  dialect  of  Gallicia,  where  he  was  educated,  and  where  the 
eongs,  old  in  the  time  of  Hannibal,  had  become  devotional  from  the  pilgrim 
influence  of  the  shrine  of  Santiago.  The  royal  bard,  moreover,  converted 
his  visions  of  alchemy  into  redondillas,  to  assist  the  memory  of  learners,  on 
the  principle  of  Latin  grammars.  His  ballads  are  among  the  most  ancient  of 
the  present  form,  and  have  been  preserved  more  from  their  author's  quality 
than  from  their  own.  They,  however,  encouraged  a  deviation  from  the 
monastic  '  versos  de  arte  major,'  which  were  written  with  an  affectation  of 
learning,  in  the  form  of  the  ancient  pentameter.  Of  works  of  this  kind,  the 
'  Poema  del  Cid,'  an  epic  of  the  twelfth  century,  is  considered  by  Schlegel, 
Southey,  Duran,  and  all  the  best  judges,  to  be  the  oldest  as  well  as  the  finest 
poem  in  the  language.  It  gave  birth,  according  to  Bouterwek,  to  the  modern 
songs  of  Spanish  chivalry,  and  fixed,  says  Schlegel,  the  true  old  Castilian 
character.  Mr.  Hallam  constantly  underrates  the  antiquity  and  merit  of  this, 
and  of  other  romances  on  the  Cid,  and  by  so  doing  shakes  the  very  corner- 
stone of  this  branch  of  literature.  He,  however,  as  constantly  and  candidly 
admits  his  '  slight  acquaintance'  and  imperfect  knowledge  of  the  original.* 


Lit.  Europe,  ii.  322.     Compare  this  with  vol.  i.  ch.  2,  ditto. 


16 


PRELIMINARY    ESSAT. 


He  is  contented  to  transcribe  Bouterwek  with  an  occasional  reference  to 
Sanchez*  and  Duran,  who,  to  the  best  of  our  judgment,  after  a  most  careful 
perusal,  hold  and  make  good  opinions  utterly  at  variance  with  those  of  Mr. 
Hallam,  and  they  must  be  the  best  judges  of  questions  very  much  philological. 
They  think,  and  we  coincide  with  them,  that  some  of  the  rpmaricpRof  the 
Cid  preceded  the  Poema;  nOT  was  it  likely  that  the  best  Spanish  epic -shoul 

Fe~1ieeirthe-nLrst.  ITwas  doubtless  a  rifacciamento,  like  the  Iliad  or  the 
Niebelungen  Lied — a  getting  together  of  earlier  floating  ballads  now  lost ; 
just  as  our  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth  composed,  about  the  same  time,  his  metrical 
history,  professedly  '  from  songs  inscribed  in  the  memory  of  the  people.'  Mr. 
Hallam,  although  he  infers  their  comparatively  recent  date  from  the  evidence 
afforded  by  the  text,  condemns  this  uncertain  criterion  when  speaking  of  our 
early  English  ballads. 

The  songs  of  the  people,  passing  from  mouth  to  mouth,  have  every  where 
been  interpolated  and  modernized.  The  first  of  the  minstrel  craft  were  rhap- 
sodists,  who  recited  their  own  compositions,  like  the  bards  of  Strabo,  (iv.  302,) 
@aq5oi  fiev  tiftvTjTcu  xort  noiTjxai,  makers,  as  the  Scald  signified  the  polisher, 
Trobadores  trouveres,  men  who  found  out  and  invented.  Highly  honored, 
they  formed  part  of  the  war  and  peace  establishment  of  kings.  Taillefer, 
'  qui  moult  bien  chantoit,'  preceded  the  Normans  at  the  battle  of  Hastings, 
singing  the  ballad  of  Roland  till  he  was  killed — a  rare  instance  of  the  poetical 
non  relictd  parmuld.  His  strains  produced  on  Harold's  troops  those  effects 
which  the  Jewish  wind  instruments  did  on  the  walls  of  Jericho.  The  Cretans, 
according  to  Polybius,  (iv.  20,)  scared  their  enemies  with  rhymes,  on  the  bag- 
piping  principle  of  our  gallant  Highlanders.  In  the  piping  times  of  peace, 
the  minstrel,  omnis  luxurue  interpres,  as  Pliny  said  of  Menander,  sang  of 
mimic  war  and  real  love  to  the  dull  barons  of  dungeon  castles,  who  had  ears, 
although  they  could  not  read — who,  doubly  steeped  in  the  ennui  of  wealth 
and  want  of  occupation,  listened  greedily,  like  other  great  men,  to  their  own 
praises.  Minstrelsy  supplied  the  lack  of  a  more  refined  intellectual  enter- 
tainment, and  of  rational  conversation,  as  professional  gentlemen  do  now  at 
civic  banquets ;  their  harpings  lulled  the  rude  Sauls  to  sleep,  which  is  now 
done  by  quarto  epics.  The  person  of  the  minstrel  was  sacred,  his  profession 
was  a  passport,  he  was  'high  placed  in  hall,  a  welcome  guest:'  the  assump- 
tion of  his  character  became  the  disguise  of  lovers  ofadventure.     These 


*  Colleccion  de  Poesias  Caslellanas  anteriores  al  siglo  xv.  Thomas  Antonio  Sanchez, 
vol.  iv.  1779,  with  elaborate  notes  and  glossary,  in  imitation  of  the  ancient  Reliques  of 
Percy. 


PRELIMINARY   ESSAY.  17 

advantages  raised  pseudo-laureates,  '  idle  vagabonds,'  according  to  the  act  of 
Edward  I.,  '  who  went  about  the  country  under  the  color  of  minstrelsy  ;'  men 
who  cared  more  about  the  supper  than  the  song ;  who  for  base  lucre  divorced 
the  arts  of  writing  and  reciting,  and  stole  other  men's  thunder.  Their  social 
degeneracy  may  be  traced  in  the  Dictionary ;  the  chanter  of  the  gests  of 
kings,  '  gesta  ducum  regumque,'  dwindled  into  a  •  gesticulator,'  a  jester ; 
the  honored  joglar  of  Provence  into  the  mountebank,  the  juggler,  the  '  jockie,' 
or  doggerel  ballad-monger — 

Beggars  they  are  by  one  consent, 
And  rogues  by  Act  of  Parliament. 

They  descended  by  the  usual  stages  of  things  of  mere  fashion  ;  at  first  the 
observed  of  all  observers,  and  therefore  then  imitated  ;  until  they  became 
common — vulgar — which  is  but  one  step,  and  the  test  at  once  of  merit,  uni- 
versal acceptance,  and  the  forerunner  of  disgrace  ;  no  sooner  taken  up  by  the 
ol  noXlot  than  rejected  by  the  exclusive.  This  occurred  very  soon  in  Spain. 
The  really  good  clergy  were  shocked  at  their  abuses,  while  the  interested 
grudged  the  money  earned  by  rivals,  who  interfered  with  their  monopoly  of 
instructing  the  people  in  pious  prose,  or  of  amusing  them  with  Alexandrine 
legends.  This  enmity  is  of  all  countries.  Their  Latin  synonyme  for  '  scald 
rhymers,'  scurra  mimus,  &c,  will  outlive  their  sculptured  caricatures ; 
where  mendicant  monks,  minstrels,  fools,  monkeys,  and  beasties,  are  pillo- 
ried on  pinnacle  and  gargoyle,  in  cloister  and  cathedral.  The  itinerant 
monks  and  mountebanks  repaid  all  this,  like  Falstaff,  by  showing  up  the 
irregularities  of  regulars  and  seculars,  '  in  ballads  to  be  sung  to  filthy  tunes.' 
'  Flebit  et  insignis  tota.  cantabitur  urbe.' — They  undermined  their  influence. 
Preachings  and  songs  take  part  in  all  national  changes  ;  for  doctrines  precede 
|  actions.  'They  were  thgjiogular  press^ofJheJiiiie^  opposed  by  the  privileged 
\  orders  and  watched  by  statesmen,  as  Burleigh  afterwards  employed  agents  to 
listen  to  street  songs,  the  thermometer  of  the  people's  temper.     In  alTThese 


terations  for  the  worse,  the  primitive  principle,  '  to  entertain,'  remained  un- 
changed. To  this  the  original  ballad  was  sacrificed ;  passing  from  one  to 
another,  each  minstrel  begged,  borrowed,  or  stole  from  all  quarters.  The 
originals  were  corrupted  and  remodelled  ;  they  got  their  bread  byplfiasiag^i 
'  magister  artis,  ingeniique  largttor  venter.'' — The  people  who  paid  had  the 
best  right  to  be  gratified  even  with  nonsense  verses  if  they  preferred  them. 
Lope  de  Vega,  one  of  the  restorers  of  the  natural  style,  excused  his  sins 
against  critical  canons  on  that  ground. 


18  PRELIMINARY  ESSAY. 

Porque  como  las  paga  el  vulgo,  es  justo, 
Hablar  le  en  necio,  para  darle  gusto. 

Now  as  novelty  is  enticing,  and  form's  the  essence  of  story-telling,  each 
new  edition  had  its  additions  or  omissions  according  to  the  talent,  bad 
taste,  caprice,  or  convenience  of  reciter  and  audience.  All  poetry  except  of 
Homeric  or  Dantesque  merit,  which  fixes  its  own  language,  suffers  from  the 
wear  and  tear  of  time,  the  greatest  of  innovaters ; — strains  which  delighted 
the  Catos  and  Cethegi,  were  thought  antiquated  in  the  days  of  Horace,  who 
modernized  those  of  Ennius ;  just  as  Dryden  and  Pope  did  those  of  Chaucer 
and  Dr.  Donne.  The  Cid  Romances,  the  corner-stones  of  the  fabric  of  ancient 
Spanish  ballads,  from  being  the  oldest,  are  exactly  those  which  have  suffered 
the  most.  They  have  come  down,  says  Duran,  like  the  ship  of  Colchos, 
which  from  frequent  repairs  retained  at  last  nothing  but  the  original  form  and 
intention.  They,  like  pieces  of  money  worn  smooth  in  common  currency, 
have  been  re-coined  and  re-issued  so  often,  that,  though  the  metal  is  un- 
changed, no  trace  of  the  first  die  is  to  be  discovered.  This  must  happen 
every  where.  Bishop  Percy  hoped  to  conciliate  '  his  polished  age,'  by  an  as- 
surance that  he  had  omitted  and  altered  much  of  the  '  rude  songs  ;'  insomuch 
that  the  sour  Ritson  '  could  place  no  confidence  in  his  text.'  Garci  Ordonez 
di  Montalto,*  in  his  re-edition  of  Amadis  de  Gaul,  anticipated  Percy  in  word 
and  deed.  The  fact  is,  that  antiquarian  exactness  is  quite  of  a  modern  date  ; 
no  one  now  dreams  of  meddling  with  the  precious  ce  rugo  of  time,  nor  of  scour- 
ing bright  the  antique  shield.  This  is  an  age  of  recurrence  to  first  principles. 
Antiquated  works,  raked  from  the  dust  of  archives,  are  now  republished  with 
such  a  curiosity  of  obsoleteness  in  spelling  and  language,  that  they  become 
the  playthings  of  black-letter  bibliomaniacs  and  useless  to  the  uninitiated,  who 
consider  books  to  be  valuable  in  proportion  as  they  are  pleasant  to  be  read  and 
understood.  The  first  publishers  of  Spanish  ballads  in  print  were  of  this  lat- 
ter opinion,  and  being  neither  antiquarians  nor  philologists,  they  put  them 
forth  in  the  language  of  the  day,  without  any  regard  for  the  venerable  idiom 
in  which  they  were  written  :  the  language,  therefore,  only  marks  the  epoch 
when  they  were  first  printed.  The  earliest  Cancionero  is  that  of  1510,  by 
Fernando  de  Castillo,  which  does  not  carry  a  stamp  of  antiquity  so  remote  as 
the  '  Chronica  General'  of  the  thirteenth  century ;  in  which  perpetual  allu- 
sions are  made  to  the  then  existing  ballads  of  the  joglares.    It  is,  nevertheless, 


*  Zaragocja  edition,  1521.     Coligio  de  los  antiquos  originales,  quitando  muchas  pala- 
bras  superfluas,  y  poniendo  otras  de  mas  polido  y  elegante  eslilo. 


PKELIMINAKY   ESSAY.  19 

the  oldest  collection  of  popular  poetry,  properly  so  called,  that  is  to  be  found 
in  any  European  literature;  and  did  we  possess  such  a  volume  of  the  time  of 
Henry  VIII.,  relating  to  the  wars  of  the  Conqueror  and  Plantagenets,  what 
illustration  and  annotation,  exclaims  Mr.  Lockhart,  would  it  not  have  received 
long  ago  !  This  and  the  earliest  Romances  bear  on  their  very  titles  the  ac- 
knowledgment, that  they  were  composed  of  modern  and  of  ancient  ballads  of 
which  collections  in  manuscript  previously  existed.  Thus  in  the  beginning 
of  the  fifteenth  century,  Alphonso  de  Baena,  by  order  of  Juan  II.*  transcribed 
a  '  Cancionero  de  Poetas  Antiquos,'  of  which  specimens  are  given  by  the 
Spanish  translators  of  Bouterwek.f  This  extraordinary  manuscript  existed 
in  the  Escurial  up  to  the  French  invasion,  when  it  disappeared.  Antonio  and 
others  had  unfortunately,  by  describing  where  it  was  and  its  value,  put  the 
plunderer  on  the  scent.  The  little  illustration  which  art  and  letters  have 
ever  received  in  Spain,  has  caused  irreparable  losses.  The  Travels  of  Ponz, 
and  the  Artistical  Dictionary  of  Cean  Bermudez,  published  in  1800,  furnished  a 
catalogue  to  the  invaders,  who  invariably  on  their  arrival  in  towns,  demanded 
every  thing  worth  taking,  to  the  amazement  of  the  natives,  who  were  gene- 
rally alike  ignorant  of  the  treasures  they  possessed,  or  of  the  books  which  de- 
scribed them. 

One  of  the  early  printed  Cancioneros  contains  productions  of  one  hundred 
and  thirty  authors.  Such  a  mellifluous  swarm  never  could  have  come  simul- 
taneously over  the  land.  They  formed  the  aurea  catena  of  Spanish  poets  ; 
unknown  indeed  to  fame,  and  when  honored  by  print,  thought  worthy  only  of 
its  coarsest,  cheapest  forms ; — destined  for  rude  thumbs,  these  editions  for  the 
people  have  become  excessively  rare,  bibliographical  gems  of  the  purest  water, 
and  paid  for  their  weight  in  gold.  Typographically  speaking,  they  are 
worthless  beyond  purposes  of  curiosity-collecting,  and  are  entirely  superseded 
by  the  modern  reprints-  The  editors  paid  no  attention  to  chronology  either  of 
author  or  subject ;  they  published  them  apologetically  to  the  learned ;  they 
just  printed  their  common-place  books,  into  which  they  had  copied  the  ballads 
in  the  order  in  which  they  chanced  to  meet  with  them.  Tares  and  corn, 
good,  bad  and  indifferent,  meet  together  in  chance  medley,  like  a  pack  of 


*  Juan  II.  was  the  patron  of  Troubadours ;  his  was  the  golden  age  of  Spanish  poetry. 
He  resembled  his  cotemporary,  our  James  I.  of  Scotland,  who  '  passed  his  tyme  yn  redyn 
'  of  Romans  yn  syngyng  and  pypyng,  in  harpyng  and  yn  all  other  honest  solaces  of  grete 
'  pleasaunce  and  delight.' 

t  Don  Jose  Gomez  dela  Cortina  y  Don  Nicolas  Hugalde  y  Molinedo.     Madrid,  1829. 


20  PRELIMINARY  ESSAY. 

shuffled  cards  ;  yet  not  unpleasant  to  read  from  the  constant  variety  and  un- 
certainty of  style  and  subject.  Few  Spanish  pericrania  are  marked  with  the 
organic  bump  of  classification  :  they  and  their  progenitors  were  Goths  in  feel- 
ing, Moors  in  habits,  ceremonious  and  '  etiqueteros'  in  personal  dealings  ;  but 
satisfied,  in  matters  and  things,  to  take  what  came  before  them  without  stand- 
ing on  the  order  of  the  course.  The  Germans,  methodical  and  analytical, 
have  wept  over  this  chaos  ;  in  which  they  found  it  impossible  to  trace  through 
any  regular  succession  of  strata  up  to  the  primitive  formation :  even  the 
Deutsche  fleiss  which  Depping  imploringly  invokes,  quailed  before  the  tangled 
web  and  the  multiplicity  of  song,  for  every  conflict  had  its  ballad,  and  every 
captain  wrote  his  despatches  in  verse.  The  Spanish  language,  rich,  sonorous, 
and  flexible,  full  of  sound  and  promise,  is  a  sort  of  blank  verse  of  itself. 
The  commonest  village  alcalde  pens  his  placards  in  the  Cambyses  vein,  more 
naturally  than  Pitt  dictated  king's  speeches  extemporaneously.  Foreigners, 
as  in  the  east,  must  never  take  Castilian  expressions  or  professions  literally — 
less  is  meant  than  meets  the  ear.  The  conventional  hyperbole  must  be  dis- 
counted, and  not  estimated  according  to  the  value  it  would  bear  in  our  busi- 
ness-like language.  We  deceive  ourselves  ;  for  no  Spaniard  trusts  the  fine 
words  of  his  countrymen,  who  seldom  mean  or  expect  that  he  should  :  they 
hold  four-fifths,  to  be  a  mere  song,  and  fit  for  songs  ;  accordingly  men 
women,  and  children,  write  and  sing  seguidillas,  many  no  doubt  of  slender 
merit ;  for  where  words  come  without  thought,  much  thought  is  commonly 
dispensed  with.  The  hardiest  mariners  are  formed  in  the  roughest  seas. 
This  facility,  however,  accounts  for  the  number  of  olden  authors,  and  the 
little  importance  attached  to  their  works  :  there  could  be  no  particular  merit, 
when,  in  the  words  of  one  of  them,  '  every  hill  was  a  Parnassus,  and  every 
'  fountain  a  Hypocrene.'  A  literary  democracy  existed  among  these  writers 
for  the  people,  which  prevented  any  one  from  rising  above  his  compeers. 
They  cast  their  bread  on  the  waters,  and  their  songs  to  the  winds  ;  they 
attached  no  value  to  what  flowed  without  effort,  and  often  thereby  deceived 
themselves  as  to  their  relative  value  ;  they  neither  thought  of  making  a 
name  nor  money,  nor  any  thing  beyond  pleasing  for  the  moment  with  trifles, 
aviocr/ediaanxa,  made  for  passing  events  and  written  on  the  occasion  :  they 
certainly  were  vastly  unlike  our  hot-pressed  poetasters,  who  expect  the 
highest  price  and  praise  for  the  smallest  contributions  ;  the  facility  of  a 
language  prodigal  of  verse  was  increased  to  the  singing  and  dancing  pro- 
pensities which  the  Spaniard  has  derived  from  his  Iberian  ancestors,  who  in 
the  time  of  Strabo  (iii.  249)  spent  the  nights  as  described  by  Silius  Italicus, 
(iii.  346 :)— 


PRELIMINARY   ESSAY. 


21 


Barbara  nunc  patriis  ululantem  carmina  Unguis   ;         .  • 
Nunc,  pedis  alterno  percussa  verbere  terra, 
Ad  numerum  resonas  gaudentem  plaudere  cetras. 
Hoc  requies  ludusque  viris,  ea  sacra  voluptas. 

Their  descendants  are  still  musical  without  being  harmonious,  saltatory 
without  being  graceful — just  as  they  are  warlike  without  being  military.  The 
guitar,  seguidilla,  and  fandango  are  unchanged  ;  they  form  the  repose  of 
sunburnt  labor  in  venta  and  courtyard,  where  some  black-whiskered  per- 
former, the  very  antithesis  of  Farinelli,  •  screechin'  out  his  prosaic  verse,' 
screams  forth  his  •  coplas  de  zarabanda,'  either  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  or 
drawls  out  his  ballad,  melancholy  as  the  drone  of  a  Lincolnshire  bag-pipe, 
both  alike  to  the  imminent  danger  of  his  own  trachea,  and  of  all  un-Spanish 
ears.  So  would  he  sing,  says  Lope  de  Vega,  even  in  a  prison,  '  a  costa  de 
'  garganta  cantareis  aunque  en  la  prision  estareis.'  The  audience,  however, 
are  in  raptures;  'all  men's  ears  grow  to  his  tunes  as  if  they  had  eaten 

•  ballads  ;'  they  take  part  with  beatings  of  feet,  '  taconeros  ;'  with  clapping 
of  hands,  the  xgozog,  *  palmeado  ;'  with  tambarines  and  castanets,  the  Baetica 
crusmata  and  crotola  of  the  Gaditanian  '  funciones,'  of  which  the  descriptions 
by  Martial  and  Petronius  Arbiter  would  serve  exactly  to  this  day.  The 
guitar  is  part  and  parcel  of  the  Spaniard  and  his  ballads ;  he  slings  it  across 
his  shoulder  with  a  riband,  as  was  depicted  on  the  tombs  of  Egypt  4000  years 
ago,  (Wilkinson,  ii.  ch.  6.)  It  is  the  unchanged  kinoor  of  the  East,  the 
xidoiQa,  cithera,  guitarra,  githorne  ;  the  'guiterne  Moresche'  of  the  minis- 
trellers,  (Ducange.)  With  the  instrument  may  have  come  down  some  rem- 
nant of  the  primitive  times,  of  which  a  want  of  the  invention  of  musical 
notation  has  deprived  us.  Melody  among  the  Egyptians,  like  sculpture,  was 
never  permitted  to  be  changed,  lest  their  fascination  might  interfere  with  the 
severe  influence  of  their  mistress,  religion.  That  both  were  invented  for  the 
service  of  the  altar  is  indicated  in  the  myth  of  their  divine  origin.  These 
tunes  passed  into  other  countries  ;  the  plaintive  Maneros  of  the  Nile  became 
the  Linus  of  Greece,  (Herod,  ii.  79.)  The  national  tunes  of  the  Fellah,  the 
Moor,  and  the  Spaniard,  are  still  slow  and  monotonous,  often  in  variance  with 
the  sentiment  of  the  words,  which  have  varied,  whilst  the  airs  remained  un- 
changed. They  are  diatonic  rather  than  chromatic,  abounding  in  suspended 
pauses,  unisonous,  not  like  our  glees,  yet  generally  provided  with  an  '  estre- 

•  villo,'  a  chorus  in  which  the  audience  joins.  They  owe  little  to  harmony, 
the  end  being  rather  to  affect  than  to  please.  Certain  sounds  seem  to  have 
a  mysterious  aptitude  to  express  certain  moods  of  the  mind  in  connexion  with 
some  unexplained  sympathy  between  the  sentient  and  intellectual  organs : 


22 


PRELIMINARY   ESSAY. 


the  simplest  are  by  far  the  most  ancient.  Ornate  melody  is  a  modern  inven- 
tion from  Italy  ;  and,  although  in  lands  of  greater  intercourse  and  fastidious- 
ness, the  conventional  has  ejected  the  national,  fashion  has  not  shamed  nor 
silenced  the  old  ballad  airs  of  Spain — those  '  howlings  of  Tarshish.'  Indeed 
national  tunes,  like  the  songs  of  birds,  are  not  taught  in  orchestras,  but  by 
mothers  to  their  infant  progeny  in  the  cradling  nest.  The  romances  of  Spain, 
when  not  sung,  are  recited  rather  than  read.  Thus,  among  the  Orientals,  a 
book  is  seldom  understood  until  it  is  rendered  vocal,  by  a  sort  of  habitual 
emphasis,  which  depends  more  on  sound  than  on  sense.  Our  method  of 
reading  appears  to  them  to  be  plain  talking.  This  recitative  is  the  '  canto 
'  fermo,'  the  plain  chant  of  the  primitive  church,  and  unquestionably  is  of 
eastern  origin.  Hence,  by  the  common  process  of  human  deterioration,  it 
passed  to  secular  purposes.  Tunes  derived  from  heavenly  spheres  in  the 
lamentations  of  olden  precentors,  were  sung  to  words  devised  by  the  sons  of 
Belial ;  and,  vice  versa,  psalms  were  set  to  hornpipes  by  the  mistaken  Stern- 
holds,  who  hoped  that  popular  tunes  might  lead  the  gay  to  sing  godly  ballads, 
'  which,'  says  the  quaint  Wood,  'they  did  not.'  This  inveterate  habit  of  song 
modified  the  form  of  Spanish  poetry.  The  long  monkish  pentameters  were 
cut  into  two  lines — into  redondillas — which  suited  the  voice.  How  easily 
this  was  done  may  be  exemplified  by  the  inverse  proof :  take  the  familiar 
example  of  the  translation  of  the  ballad  of  '  unfortunate  Miss  Bailey,'  in  the 
ancient  mediaeval  form  : — 

'  Seduxit  miles  yiigine?n  I  receptus  in  hibernis,  I 
Praecipitem  quae  laqueo  |  se  transtulit  avernis.  | 

Prodigality  of  verse  was  fostered  by  the  musician,  who  only  looked  to  a 
certain  number  of  syllables,  and  cared  not  whether  they  were  swift  iambics, 
running  trochees,  cantering  dactyls  or  anapests — dimiters  or  trimiters.  Every 
possible  license  in  metre  was  allowable  :  if  the  meaning  could  not  be  com- 
prehended into  a  copla  of  four  verses,  it  was  carried  on  without  the  break 
even  of  a  comma  into  five  or  six.  A  similar  laxity  was  permitted  in  the 
rhymes,  which  were  used  or  not  at  caprice,  or  mingled  with  assonants  which 
consist  of  the  mere  recurrence  of  the  same  vowels  without  reference  to  that 
of  consonants.  Thus  santos,  llantos,  are  rhymes,  amor  and  razon  are  asso- 
nants ;  even  these,  which  poorly  fill  a  foreign  ear,  were  not  always  observed  ; 
a  change  in  intonation,  or  a  few  more  thumps  or  less  on  the  guitar-board,  did 
the  work,  and  superseded  all  difficulties.  These  •  moras  pronunciations,'  this 
•  ictus  metricus,'  constitute  a  rude  prosody,  and  lead  to  music  just  as  gestures 
do  to  dancing — to  ballads — 'che  se  canta  ballando  ;'  and  which,  when  heard, 


PRELIMINARY   ESSAY. 


23 


reciprocally  inspire  a  tarantula  desire  to  snap  fingers  and  kick  heels,  as  all 
will  admit  in  whose  ears  the  '  Habas  Verdes'  of  Seville  or  the  Cachucha  of 
Cadiz  yet  ring.  The  words  destined  to  set  all  this  capering  in  motion  were 
not  written  for  cold  critics  ;  and  even  such  as  were  professedly  serious  and 
not  saltatory,  were  listened  to  by  those  who  were  attuned  to  the  hearing 
vein — who  anticipated  and  re-echoed  the  subject — who  were  operated  on  by 
the  contagious  bias.  Thus,  a  fascinated  audience  of  otherwise  sensible 
Britons  tolerate  the  positive  presence  of  nonsense  at  an  opera — 

'  Where  rhyme  with  reason  does  dispense, 
And  sound  has  right  to  govern  sense.' 

The  poems  of  an  Italian  improvisatore  appear,  like  many  sermons,  to  be 
excellent,  until  tested  by  print.  We  must,  however,  refer  our  readers  to  the 
entertaining  work  of  Don  N.  Zamarcola*  for  these  lower  classes  of  Spanish 
ballads,  and  confine  ourselves  to  the  more  serious  and  romantic.  The 
mother-wit  of- Andalusians  and  the  deep  feeling  of  Castilians,  have  given 
an  aroma  to  the  former  and  an  interest  to  the  latter,  which,  like  delicate 
wines,  will  hardly  bear  transportation.  Simplicity,  the  common,  and  greatest 
charm  of  all  ancient  reliques,  appears,  when  in  a  strange  dress,  poor,  trivial, 
and  flavorless  ;  while  some  words  in  translation  convey  too  much,  and  others 
too  little,  there  are  several,  says  Southey,  which  are  altogether  untranslata- 
ble. They  are  like  the  'open  Sesame'  of  the  Arabian  tale — the  meaning 
may  be  retained  ;  but,  if  the  word  be  changed,  the  spell  is  lost.  This  magic 
has  its  effect  only  upon  those  to  whom  the  language  is  familiar  as  their 
mother- tongue,  and  hardly,  indeed,  upon  any  other  but  those  to  whom  it 
really  is  so.  Thus  many  of  the  oldest  romances  (Bouterwek  cites  those  of 
Fontefrida  and  Rosafresca  as  perfectly  untranslatable)  appear  to  us  to  have 
nothing  in  them  ;  and  yet,  probably  from  referring  to  some  real  fact  or  early 
association,  to  something  passing  show,  fire  in  the  native  Spaniard  a  train  of 
a  thousand  pleasing  ideas.  This  hidden  fulness  of  meaning,  which,  like 
expression,  is  more  beautiful  than  mere  beauty,  can  only  be  revealed  to  those 
who  have  a  light  within  :  cpotvavxa  avveroKn.  It  is  only  to  be  represented 
by  ideas,  not  words ;  we  have  no  freemasonry,  no  half-note  which  recalls  and 
explains  every  thing  :  what  notion  does  the  word  Lava  convey  to  the  dull 
boor  of  a  Lincolnshire  fen  1    It  is  thus  that  poetry  preserves  language  ;  from 


*   Coleccion  de  Seguidillas  liranas  y  Polos. 
name  of  Don  Preciso. 


Published  at  Madrid,  1799,  under  the 


24  PRELIMINARY   ESSAY. 

feeling  that  the  glowing  stanzas  cannot  be  adequately  translated  we  learn 
the  original. 

Mr.  Lockhart  has  deeply  imbued  his  mind  with  the  spirit  of  these  Spanish 
ballads ;  acting  upon  the  opinion  of  Johnson,  he  has  emancipated  himself 
from  the  drudgery  of  counting  lines  and  interpreting  single  words — 'from  that 
servility  which  has  obscured  the  clearest,  and  deformed  the  most  beautiful. 
He  has  caught  the  emphatic  feature,  and  has  in  so  doing  combined  sufficient 
fidelity  in  his  copy  without  losing  the  freedom  and  unconstrained  flow  of  his 
original,  which,  as  far  as  the  English  reader  is  concerned,  he  has  frequently 
improved  by  a  judicious  pruning.  Mr.  Lockhart  has  adopted  the  arrangement 
of  Depping,  who,  despairing  of  ascertaining  priority  of  composition,  divided 
these  ballads  into  the  historical,  chivalrous,  Moorish,  and  the  mixed.  All 
these,  however  differing  in  subject  or  style,  bear  a  striking  family  likeness, 
and  are  stamped  with  that  character  of  nationality  which  the  Spanish  litera- 
ture possesses  in  so  eminent  a  degree,  and  which  forms  one  of  its  most 
honorable  features.  The  earliest,  and  by  these  we  mean  such  as  preceded 
Charles  V.,  bear  the  most  decided  lineaments  of  their  true  old  Castilian 
parentage.  They  present  a  genuine  transcript  of  the  unadulterated  rjdog, 
the  chivalrous  idealization  of  the  feudal  and  crusading  systems.  It  would 
form  an  interesting  inquiry  to  trace  the  decline  of  Spanish  character  and 
power,  as  evidenced  in  the  altered  tone  of  the  popular  records.  It  is  not  less 
clear  than  the  physical  degeneracy  of  the  stalwart  Guzmanes  and  Ponce  de 
Leons  of  old,  as  exhibited  in  the  puny  frames  of  their  dwarfed  and  stunted 
descendants. 

The  historical  and  chivalrous  ballads  are  fully  entitled  to  those  epithets. 
They  are  records  rather  than  romances,  heroic  and  national  poems  rather 
than  ballads.  There  is  scarcely  any  incident  of  importance  which  is  not  to 
be  found  among  them.  Like  the  historical  dramas  of  Shakspeare  (through 
which,  like  Lord  Chatham,  half  England  knows  half  its  history)  they  kept  up 
the  national  spirit — they  told  the  tale  of  ancestors  who  never  despaired, 
never  surrendered,  but  fought,  endured,  and  conquered.  Heard  in  youth, 
they  had  all  the  advantage  of  priority,  when  the  memory— wax  to  receive 
and  marble  to  retain — never  forgets  what  it  the  first  remembered.  More 
engaging  than  dry  history,  they  expressed  the  feelings  of  the  nation,  and  so 
truly,  that  they  were  listened  to  in  spite  of  their  almost  monotonous  uni- 
formity— their  rudeness,  and  occasional  rambling  diffuseness  and  exaggera- 
tion. In  these  Hotspur  poems,  we  must  not  look  for  the  elegant,  delicate,  or 
refined.  Dealing  with  facts,  they  are  not  distinguished  by  any  great  depth 
of  thought,  nor  by  that  probing  into  the  secret  workings  of  the  human  heart 


PRELIMINARY   ESSAY. 


2* 


which  is  the  province  of  the  philosophical  poetry  of  advanced  civilization, 
when  the  pains  and  pleasures  of  the  body  give  place  to  the  more  exquisite 
tortures  and  enjoyments  of  the  mind.  They  looked  to  effects,  and  not  to  the 
abstract ;  and  in  this  they  are  infinitely  superior  to  modern  Italian  poetry, 
which,  infinitely  more  perfect  in  form  and  art,  never  sustained  a  nation's 
liberties  and  character.  We  must  not,  therefore,  judge  of  them  by  the  effect 
which  they  now  produce  on  us — when  the  eye,  not  ear,  is  called  to  decide — 
but  by  the  effect  which  was  intended,  and  was  produced,  on  those  who  heard 
them  and  on  their  children's  children.  In  our  days  of  pseudo  information  and 
intelligence,  one  novelty  obliterates  another,  one  stirring  appeal  is  damped 
by  another.  To  the  rude  soldier  Spaniard,  scantiness  of  information  was 
made  up  by  concentration — the  moral  stimulant  was  intense — they  heard  and 
believed  like  children  at  a  play.  Imagination  acted  upon  their  untutored 
minds,  as  reason  does  on  oursr  and  infinitely  stronger,  because  their  hearts 
as  well  as  their  heads  were  affected,  and  embarked  in  their  belief.  These 
cheering  songs,  like  the  Sibyl  oracles  of  Greece,  the  propitious  omens  of  the 
Romans,  animated  the  powerful  principle  in  faith,  of  realizing  the  thing 
believed — possunt,  quia  posse  videntur.  These  cheering  songs  generated  the 
Hector-like,  the  best  and  only  omen,  to  die  if  necessary  for  their  liberties  and 
countries. 

£i£  oiwvos  apioTos  ajiweaOat  irept  Trarpijj. 

It  has  been  well  remarked,  that  those  who  have  the  making  of  the  people's 
ballads  may  dispense  with  the  power  of  enacting  laws.  The  binding  power, 
the  esprit  de  corps  of  these  popular  appeals,  obtains  not  only  with  a  simple 
isolated  uncommunicating  people,  (and  then  the  strongest,)  but  also  with  the 
most  refined  and  philosophical.  We  all  side  with  those  with  whom  we  agree. 
These  ballads  speak  out  for  the  whole  nation  what  lies  in  every  man's  heart. 
They  are  the  means  of  expression  to  those  who  want  words,  not  feelings. 
They  sway  the  myriads  as  the  breeze  does  the  bending  corn.  Their  power, 
like  that  of  communicating  or  disarming  the  electric  shock,  has  always  been 
for  good  or  evil,  for  peace  or  war,  for  loyalty  or  revolution.  So,  among  our- 
selves, the  cause  of  the  Stuarts  was  thus  made  and  marred.  The  royalist 
ballad,  '  The  King  shall  hae  his  ain  again,'  long  upheld  the  crown,  which  the 
Protestant  ■  Lillibullero'  of  Wharton  dashed  from  the  head  of  the  last,  and 
not  the  worst  of  the  line.  The  sea  songs  of  Dibdin  cheered  on  the  honest, 
frank,  gallant  tars  of  England  to  victory ;  while  the  '  Ca  ira'  of  France 
goaded  on  a  once  gay,  good-humored  people  into  ferocity  and  revolution  ;  and 
its  imitation,  'Tragala,'  stained  the  banner  of  Castile  and  San  Iago  with 
atheism  and  disloyalty. 


PRELIMINARY   ESSAY. 

The  early  ballads  of  Spain,  like  those  who  made  and  sung  them,  were 
j  engrossed  by  a  domestic  warfare,  pro  aris  etfocis.  The  actors  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  foreigners  or  their  concerns,  (to  which,  to  this  day,  the  Spaniards  are 
jcontemptuously  indifferent.)  Ultra-national  and  independent,  they  cared  for 
no  Arthurs.  They  honored  Charlemagne  and  his  peerage  with  notice,  very 
imuch  because  their  Bernardo  had  crushed  them  at  Roncevalles  ;  just  as  the 
Venetian  gondolier  sang  Tasso,  because  therein  was  embodied  his  republic's 
hatred  against  the  Ottoman,  their  worst  foe.  Ultra-christian,  they  denounced 
as  the  devil  and  his  works,  as  heathen  and  infidel  abominations,  all  that 
savored,  whether  of  Jupiter  and  Apollo,  or  Mahoon  and  Termagaunt,  all 
allusions  to  the  mythological  machinery  of  the  classics,  or  to  the  Oriental 
interventions  of  genii  and  afrits.  They  had  their  own  interruptive  deities, 
their  own  miracles,  their  own  San  Iago,  their  own  heaven-descended  Palla- 
dium on  Zaragoca's  Pillar.  Poetry  was  as  nothing  in  the  scale  of  their 
intolerant  uncompromising  orthodoxy — their  pure  immaculate  faith.  This, 
the  boast  of  the  '  Christiano  viejo  y  rancio'  involved  the  whole  principle  and 
secret  of  the  success  of  Mahomet,  and  it  was  turned  by  the  Cross  against  the 
Crescent.  A  lesser  stimulant  never  could  have  conduced  to  the  recovery, 
by  the  sons  of  a  handful  of  refugees,  of  long-lost  kingdoms.  It  was  this 
single-hearted  principle  which  animated  this  forlorn  out-post  of  Europe,  that 
saved  the  western  world  from  the  paralysis  of  an  eastern  yoke.  This  re- 
ligious distinction  contributed  also  to  keep  the  ancient  ballads  pure  from  any 
Arabian  tinge  of  literature,  which  only  begins  to  appear  after  the  conquest 
of  Granada,  when  the  Moor  had  dwindled  into  a  Morisco — a  term  of  inferi- 
ority and  contempt.  No  Arabian  influence  could  predominate,  while  their 
arms  were  feared,  their  manners  and  language  unknown,  and  their  creed  a 
subject  of  unutterable  abhorrence.  The  Spaniard  borrowed,  indeed,  from 
the  Moor  his  warfare  and  his  mimic  sports  of  war  ;  but  his  arts,  letters,  and 
agriculture  he  despised,  as  enervating  to  the  soldier  and  heretical  to  the 
Christian.  The  painted  windows  of  Gothic  churches  were  too  deeply  colored 
with  the  saints  and  martyrs  of  the  Cros6,  to  permit  one  ray  of  the  Crescent 
to  desecrate  with  its  glare  the  solemn  altar. 

This  religious  feeling  tended  alike  to  remove  from  their  Gothic  literature 
the  proportions  of  the  classics.  These  rude  crusaders,  whose  pith  was 
wasted  in  '  the  tented  field,'  cared  little  for  the  set  phrases  of  Pericles  or 
Augustus.  What's  Hecuba  to  them !  Virgil,  held  to  be  a  necromancer 
during  the  dark  ages,  was  treated  as  a  calumniator  of  fair  Dido's  fame,  by 
the  soldier  poet  Ercilla,  one  of  the  best — and  soldiers  have  been  the  best— r 
authors  of  Spain.    Poetry  took  the  veil  of  a  nun  rather  than  the  mask,  of 


PRELIMINARY   ESSAY. 


27 


Euterpe.  Berceo,  (Loor.  40,)  one  of  the  older  writers,  denounces  those 
wicked  joglers  who  do  religion  an  injury  by  neglecting  the  Virgin  for  the 
gods  and  goddesses  of  Paganism.  Thus  we  find  their  Cids,  though  brave, 
noble,  and  hidalgos,  were  not  descended  from  deities,  but  from  Christian 
parents  ;  and  their  swords  were  good  and  sharp,  though  not  tempered  in  the 
forges  of  Vulcan.  '  They  had  no  occasion  to  borrow  heroes  from  Greece  or 
Rome,  when  real  ones  occurred  in  their  own  eventful  annals  and  times. 
Foreign  invasion  and  civil  war  called  forth  spirits  from  the  deep,  and  inspired 
the  serious  Milton-like  tone  which  breathes  throughout  The  Castilian's  was 
a  battle  existence  ;  he  knew  not  of  the  luxuries  or  rich  harvests  of  the  Moor, 
but  to  lay  them  waste;  the  constant  setting  his  life  on  the  cast  in  holy 
crusade  inspired  an  indifference  to  this  world's  goods.  It  fed  that  Spanish 
feeling  which  has  always  peopled  their  cloisters  from  all  classes,  from  the 
king  to  the  peasant,  their  peculiar  '  desengano,'  the  finding  out  the  cheat  of 
life — of  its  flat,  stale,  and  unprofitable  vanities.  Their  early  ballads  dwell 
on  the  overthrow  of  the  Gothic  monarchy,  on  domestic  misfortunes,  the  tale 
of  unrequited  love  ;  and  in  the  later,  the  Morisco  laments  over  fallen  Granada. 
A  dwelling  on  the  past  has  a  thoughtful  saddening  influence.  There  are 
more  tender  elements  in  the  sere  Autumnal  leaf  than  in  the  blossom  promise 
of  Spring ;  and  a  sojourn  at  Rome  leaves  a  deeper  impression  than  a  season 
at  Naples.  There  are  more  hearse-like  airs  than  carols  on  David's  harp,  and 
the  sorrows  of  Job  are  more  vividly  delineated  than  the  felicity  of  Solomon. 
So  said  Bacon.  The  sadness  at  the  bottom  of  these  nightingale  songs  of 
Spain  is  one  of  the  secrets  of  their  success  ;  for  calamity,  the  common  un- 
changeable lot  of  man,  is  understood  by  all,  while  humor  and  mirth  depend, 
to  be  fully  enjoyed,  on  a  thousand  accidents.  This  retrospective  habit,  which 
is  fostered  in  England  by  our  classical  education,  was  kept  alive  in  Spain  by 
the  never-forgotten  fall  of  Roderick,  the  last  of  the  Goths.  Though  the 
tendency  to  moralize  became  occasionally  sententious,  yet  it  never  became 
gloomy  nor  austere — it  was  never  unmanned  by  affected  sentimentality  nor 
morbid  misanthropy ;  it  was  healthy,  vigorous,  and  religious,  such  as  became 
a  Christian  soldier  who  trusted  in  God  and  his  good  sword.  This  was  evi- 
denced in  every  line  which  recorded  every  deed.  They  relied  on  their  own 
resources.  Eyewitnesses  of  broils  and  battles,  they  sung  of  men  whom  they 
knew  and  of  armies  of  which  they  formed  part.  Hence  their  versatility  in 
transferring  themselves  to  the  feelings  of  the  actors.  Like  delightful  Frois- 
sart,  there  is  a  daylight  in  their  sketches  which  no  in-door  painting  ever 
possesses.  They,  like  Walter  Scott,  whose  romances  are  poems,  owed  their 
popularity  '  to  writing  with  that  military  artlessness,  that  hurried  frankness, 


28 


PRELIMINARY   ESSAY. 


•  which  pleases  soldiers  and  young  people  of  bold  action  and  disposition.' 
There  is  no  vain  self-portraiture  :  their  genius  was  simple  and  modest,  their 
bravery  unimpeacbed.  They  could  well  leave  boasting  and  braggadocio  to 
their  degenerate  successors  ;  occupied  with  realities,  they  told  a  plain  un- 
varnished tale,  one  more  touching  than  any  fiction,  and  which,  being  true  to 
nature,  has  pleased  learned  and  unlearned,  the  gentlest  and  the  bravest. 
These  old  masters,  like  Giotto  or  Cimabue,  painted  what  they  saw  ;  and  the 
Castilians  fell  as  naturally  into  battle  array,  as  the  innately  picturesque 
Italians  did  into  sacred  groups.  Without  looking  to  the  rules  of  Grecian  or 
foreign  art,  they  trusted  to  the  expression  of  sentiment  which  they  deeply 
felt.  They  flourished  without  the  encumbrance  of  academies,  and  under 
circumstances  apparently  the  most  unfavorable.  They  studied  in  the  school 
of  nature ;  and  their  transcripts,  true  as  the  most  polished  of  the  classics, 
although  trodden  down  for  a  time  by  the  heel  of  conventional  critics,  have 
revived  again,  and  will  revive,  like  the  flowers  of  the  field  over  which  an 
army  has  passed — spring  up  again,  when  the  crushing  dead-weight  is  re- 
moved. Eloquent,  but  not  rhetorical,  there  was  no  labored  production  of  the 
midnight  lamp.  They  wrote,  like  Burns,  in  the  field  ;  they  fought  their 
battles  o'er  again,  while  their  swords  communicated  energy  to  their  pens. 
They_looked_  to  events,  not  style  ;  there  was  no  attempt  to  be  fine,  nor  to 
write  for  effect.  The  rough"  diamond  retained  its  salient  angles ;  they  de- 
scribed single  situations,  simply  and  forcibly,  without  effort  or  much  delicacy, 
yet  the  rudeness  lay  more  in  the  words  than  in  the  sentiments  ;  they  left 
their  downright  tale  to  make  its  own  impression  ;  they  never  diluted  it  by 
verbiage,  nor  injured  the  air  of  history  by  overstating  ;  they  preferred  the 
naked  energetic  chiaroscuro  of  Michael  Angelo  to  the  tinselly  drapery  of 
Paul  Veronese.  Abrupt,  they  went  at  once  into  the  subject ;  they  placed 
the  reader  without  preface  on  the  scene.  They  dealt  not  with  dry  general 
facts,  but  brought  reality  forward  in  detail.  The  actors  came  on  without 
introduction  ;  they  moved  and  lived  in  bold  relief ;  the  audience  were  sup- 
posed to  know  them  and  their  story.  This  was  handled  briefly,  with  much 
dramatic  skill,  and  the  event  graphically  told,  with  remarkable  precision  of 
expression.  The  thing  done,  all  was  ended  as  abruptly  as  it  began.  Written 
by  gentlemen,  they  obtained  a  currency,  and  that  high  tone  of  court  and 
camp  which  still  pervades  the  national  character.  Religion  and  chivalry 
were  the  '  pivots ;'  they  inculcated  a  noble  simplicity,  a  contempt  for  death, 
a  generous  support  of  others,  a  high-spirited  disregard  of  self,  a  devotion  to 
the  sex,  not  licentious,  although  rather  energetic  than  tender ;  a  magnifi- 
cence, liberality,  and  hospitality ;  a  delight  in  adventure  and  life  of  action  ; 


PRELIMINARY   ESSAY.  29 

a  pride  to  man,  but  humility  to  God  ;  a  blind  obedience  to  king  and  priest ; 
a  sense  of  individual  honor  and  prowess,  a  hatred  and  undervaluing  of 
foreigners. 

This  nationality  is  evinced  alike  by  what  their  ballads  are,  as  by  what  they 
are  not     How  little  they  owed  to  foreign  sources  is  proved  by  their  rudeness, 
by  the  absence  of  those  diagnostics  by  which,  as  in  painting,  other  schools 
may  be  recognized.     They  have  none  of  the  Hebrew  grand  conceptions,  of 
Jehovah  his  thunders  and  lightnings  ;  none  of  the  allusions  to  natural  ob- 
jects ; — to  the  vine,  the  fig,  the  lilies  of  the  field,  and  the  water  brook.    They 
have  none  of  the  Attic  images  of  the  sea,  the  voluptuous  yearning  after  and 
the  perception  of  the  beautiful — nothing  of  nature  idealized,  none  of  that  re- 
gret for  the  shortness  and  loss  of  sweet  life — that  praise  of  the  pleasures  of 
love,  wine,  and  the  rose  chaplet.     They  were  more  like  Lacedemonian  than 
Athenian,  and  still  more  like  the  early  Roman,  in  love  of  country  and  its 
greatness  ;  yet  there  is  nothing  of  the  laying  down  the  sword  for  the  plough, 
no  fondness  for  the  Georgics,  no  drawing  of  landscape  ;  they  soared  higher, 
and  painted  subjects  of  history.     Neither  did  the  early  Romanceros  borrow 
the  purple  of  the  prelate  ;  nor  the  ingots  of  the  princely  (though  by  them  de- 
spised) merchants  of  modern  Italy.     They  shunned  the  infidelity  of  her  scof- 
fers, who,  living  under  the  shadow  of  St.  Peter's,  were  enabled  to  estimate 
its  grossness ;  neither  had  they  the  Ariosto  careless-minded  pleasantry — the 
persiflage  which  concealed  secret  triumph  over  surrounding  commonplace — 
the  irony  which  revealed  to  the  initiated  what  was  meant  to  be  hidden  from 
the  herd.     Neither  did  they  borrow  from  the  muse  of  Provence  ;  she  was  too 
gay,  too  amorous  for  celibate  warriors  who  had  crucified  their  flesh ;  her 
strain  was  too  much  a  song,  a  thing  of  fashion  and  frivolity,  and  too  wanting 
in  principle  ;  and  even  had  the  Spaniard  been  seduced  by  her  fascinations,  the 
Inquisition  would  have  struck  out  every  taint  of  infidelity  or  indecency,  which 
never  disgraces  the  pages  of  the  chaste  and  moral  literature  of  Spain.    Though 
grave,  the  Spaniard  never  fell  into  the  supernatural,  into  the  wood-demons  of 
haunted  forests,  the  skull-formed  goblets  of  blood,  the  ghosts  and  tales  of 
terror  of  the  North,  which  chill  like  their  long  nights  of  winter.     Night,  to  the 
Andalusian,  is  the  hour  when  pleasure  awakes  to  the  cool  breeze,  the  guitar, 
and  rendezvous.    Yet  not  for  the  boisterous  joyousness  of  merry  old  England — 
the  school-boy  love  of  mischief  for  mischief's  sake — the  lawless  freebooting 
of  Diana's  foresters — the  nomade  Anglo-Saxon  life  in  the  country,  opposed  to 
the  city  and  castle  of  the  domineering  Norman.     With  all  the  English  hatred 
for  foreign  oppression,  the  early  Spaniard  had  less  of  his  ridicule  for  humbug, 
lay  or  clerical — he  was  too  temperate  to  care  much  for  flagons  of  nut-brown 


30 


PRELIMINARY   ESSAY. 


ale,  and  the  venison-pasty,  flavored  with  the  poaching  relish  of  opposition  to 
hateful  game-laws.  The  Spaniard,  fighting  on  his  native  plains,  had  no  songs 
of  the  sea,  of  ancient  mariners,  whose  deck  was  their  field,  whose  joy  the 
battle  and  the  breeze. 

Thus  far  they  had  remained  original,  both  positively  and  negatively,  when 
an  increased  intercourse  with  Italy  in  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  century 
introduced  the  Dantesque,  the  allegorical,  mythological,  and  metaphysical 
styles,  and  the  native  raciness  began  to  evaporate.  The  poet  merged  in  the 
scholar,  who  was  willing  to  injure  the  purity  of  his  mother-tongue,  in  the 
vain  hope  of  rendering  it  more  classical.  A  subsequent  decline  brought  on 
euphuism,  with  conceit,  mannerism,  bad  taste,  and  affectation.  Critics  and 
courtiers  waged  war  against  honest  nature  ;  they  played  about  the  head,  but 
never  touched  the  heart ;  they  fell  into  verbal  subtleties,  into  anagrams,  in- 
genious combinations,  things  of  words,  not  mind,  the  tricks  of  a  puny  litera- 
ture. Devoid  of  originality,  they  now  '  glossed'  the  older  ballads  of  sterner 
stuff— just  as  simple  tunes  are  frittered  away  by  unmeaning  variations  ; 
they  diluted  instead  of  condensing.  Poetry  became  the  trade  of  pedants,  who 
wrote  to  show  their  learning,  not -from  an  irresistible  necessity  of  giving  vent 
to  what  was  bursting  within.  They  spun  out  in  their  libraries  a  sham-fight 
of  metaphors,  iron  sleets  and  arrowy  showers — the  mincing  of  metre  ballad- 
mongers — popinjays  who  knew  less  of  war  and  wounds,  God  save  the  mark  ! 
than  of  parmaceti.  Stuff  which  would  have  grated  in  the  ears  of  the  old 
Cid — '  we  must  have  knocks,  ha  !  must  we  not  V — Venus  fared  worse  than 
Mars.  Sonneteers  warbled  amatory  nothings  to  phantoms  of  shadows.  Love 
was  made  but  to  be  told  by  vain  babblers,  who  knew  not  that  real  love  never 
stops  to  define  nor  analyse,  never  trumpets  forth  its  tale,  but,  deeply  sensitive, 
hides  its  sweet  secret,  dreading  never  to  meet  with  full  sympathy  from  un- 
congenial hearts.  The  Platonisms  of  Petrarch  without  his  delicacy,  were  ill- 
suited  to  the  real  fierce  passion  which  burned  and  burns  in  Southern  bosoms 
for  a  real  concentrating  object. 

Meanwhile,  a  sad  change  for  the  worse  was  silently  taking  place  in  the 
character  of  Spaniards.  Their  literature,  its  exponent,  partook  of  the  dete- 
rioration. The  civil  and  religious  tyranny  of  the  Austrian  brooded  over  the 
land ;  the  once-free  Castilians  no  longer  fought  for  their  faith  and  country,  but 
for  ambition  and  foreign  conquest :  slaves  at  home,  and  conquerors  abroad, 
their  ancient  good  qualities  became  the  sources  of  the  most  cruel  deeds  of 
butchery  and  bigotry  which  have  ever  disgraced  a  nation.  With  the  same 
implicit  obedience  to  king  and  priest,  they  executed  the  bloody  orders  of  des- 
pots and  the  Inquisition.    Their  poesy,  which  had  shone  bright  in  their  an- 


PRELIMINARY   ESSAY.  31 

cient  ballads,  now  shared  in  the  decline  ;  it  still  glittered  on  the  theatre,  yet 
devoid  of  ancient  honesty  and  simplicity.  It  now  inculcated  doctrines  of  ser- 
vility, of  bad  morality,  laxness  in  principle,  false  honor,  selfishness,  and  skulk- 
ing assassination. 

The  discredit  into  which  the  old  system  had  fallen  produced  Don  Quixote. 
The  success  of  this  inimitable  performance  contributed  to  hasten  the  general 
change  for  the  worse.  No  man,  however,  had  more  of  the  true  chivalrous 
spirit  than  Cervantes  ;  nor  do  we  think  that  he  originally  contemplated  the 
full  effect  which  his  work  produced,  and  which  he  appears  to  have  tried  to 
counteract  in  his  second  part ;  where  (excepting  the  monomania,)  the  high 
ijdog  of  his  hero  rises  very  much,  and  in  fact  became  the  portrait  of  the 
author.  Chivalry  had  served  its  turn,  and  had  had  its  day  ;  from  being  all  in 
all,  it  had  become  useless,  powerless,  and  necessarily  was  held  cheap,  by  all 
those  who  kick  at  the  fallen  lion  :  '  du  sublime  au  ridicule  il  n'y  a  qu'  un 
pas.'  Knowledge  blew  romance  to  the  winds,  as  gunpowder  reduced  the 
knight  errant  to  the  ranks.  The  clay-footed  colossus  was  laughed  at  and 
travestied.  The  germ  of  a  Don  Quixote  budded  first  among  the  practical 
English,  who  soon,  with  their  genius  for  caricature,  depicted  the  absurdity 
and  weak  side  in  their  Sir  Topaz — their  mock  tournament  of  Tottenham, 
their  Reeves  Daughter,  their  Dragon  of  Wantley.  More  of  Morehall  was  the 
type  of  the  Knight  of  La  Mancha — a  glimmering  of  this  had  appeared  in  the 
Satirical  Minho  Rebulgo.  The  ridicule,  however,  which  pleased  the  frivolous 
Juan  II.  was  not  in  sympathy  with  the  nation,  nor  with  the  reality  of  the 
Moorish  contest.  Spanish  romance  was  destined  to  fall,  like  Caesar,  with 
greater  dignity.  There  is  nothing,  however,  new  under  the  sun.  The  same 
causes  led  to  similar  effects  many  centuries  before.  '  The  Pythian  sibyl,' 
says  Plutarch,*  '  descended  from  her  car  of  metre,  melodies,  and  ballads,  to 
4  distinguish  in  prose  the  true  from  the  mythological,  and  stooped  with  dis- 
1  enchanted  wings  to  truth.'  Prose — alas  !  as  we  know  to  our  cost — in  the 
march  of  intellect  follows  the  funeral  of  poesy,  as  naturally  as  physicians  and 
undertakers  do  once-animated  remains.  When  the  world  fancied  itself  get- 
ting wiser,  it  considered  poetry  to  be  a  fiction,  and,  mistaking  form  for  sub- 
stance, gave  credit  to  the  same  stories  when  made  honest  in  prose,  the  pre- 
sumed garb  of  respectable  matter  of  fact,  which  it  rejected  in  verse.  The 
metrical  romances  led  to  those  ponderous  folios,  those  Amadis  de  Gauls  in 

*  Plutarch  de  Pyth.  Or.  vii.  601.  Reisk.  pcrpois  peXtai  Kai  &><5ai$ — Karcfir]  fitv  aito  twv 
fUTpu*  litrrtp  o^tifaroiv,  ij  'Lrropia  nai  tu>  ncfo  (sermone  pedestri)  ftaAiora  tow  fivduiovs 
cnrtKPiQn  to  *Ki)8t(. 


32  PRELIMINARY  ESSAY. 

which  Spain  took  the  lead,  the  perusal  of  which  drove  Don  Quixote  mad ; 
the  process  of  conversion  is  old  and  simple,  it  merely  consisted  in  removing 
the  final  rhymes,  when  the  prose  became  complete.  The  rule  holds  good  to 
this  day,  and  the  experiment  may  be  verified  on  any  of  the  best  poems  of  last 
year's  publication. 

The  Moorish  conquest  which  preceded  these  later  deteriorations  in  national 
character  and  literature,  effected  some  change  in  both ;  more,  however,  in 
form  than  in  substance.  The  Arabian  influence  lighted  up  the  native  flowers 
of  Castilian  romance  with  the  gorgeous  brilliancy  of  an  eastern  sun  :  a  more 
figurative,  ornate,  oriental  tinge  was  communicated,  from  which  the  older 
ballads  are  remarkably  exempt :  the  two  people  were  now  brought  into  imme- 
diate, and  at  first  into  amicable  contact  They  felt,  what  so  often  happens, 
the  softening  explanatory  influence  of  intercourse,  and  a  better  acquaintance, 
under  which  even  the  fallen  angels  appear  less  black.  They  found  that  the 
hated  Moors  resembled  themselves  in  pride  and  martial  chivalry,  and  were 
their  masters  in  arts,  luxuries,  and  refinement.  The  Moor,  a  subject  of 
national  interest  and  triumph,  became  in  consequence  a  vehicle  for  novels  and 
poesy ;  which  professed,  on  the  captandum  principle,  to  be  translated  from 
Arabian  originals,  done  into  choice  Castilian  by  eminent  authors  ;  and  no 
doubt,  in  many  instances,  much  was  actually  adopted  from  an  originally  cognate 
literature  ;  as  had  occurred  before  in  the  times  of  Alvarus  and  St  Eulogius. 
It  was  thus  that  the  most  delightful  of  tales,  '  Las  Guerras  de  Granada,'* 
originated ; — a  work  which,  in  the  opinion  of  Schlegel,  contains  some  of  the 
finest  ballads  in  the  Spanish,  or  in  any  other  language.  It  was  the  prototype 
of  the  '  Waverley  novels.'  It  was  a  Moorish  tale  of  •  sixty  years  since,'  pub- 
lished about  a  hundred  years  after  the  conquest  of  Granada.  It  professed  to 
be  a  translation  taken  from  the  original  of  Abenhanum  of  Granada,  by  Gines 
Perez  of  Murcia,  and  to  give  the  history  of  the  intrigues  of  the  Alhambra, 
and  the  Moorish  account  of  that  period.  It  was  a  mixture  of  history  and  fiction, 
with  just  enough  of  the  former  to  stamp  a  color  of  credit  on  the  details.  Its 
success  was  prodigious ;  it  rivalled  in  number  of  editions  the  Amadis  of 

*  No  lover  of  Spanish  romance  should  be  without  this  charming  novel,  for  a  fiction  it 
undoubtedly  is.  Avast  number  of  editions  are  enumerated  by  Brunet,  (Nouv.  Res.  ii. 
178,)  and  by  Hall  am,  (Lit.  Eur.,  iii.  438.)  Neither,  however,  mention  those  editions 
now  before  us.  Parte  Prima,  (the  second  edition,)  Valencia,  1597.  Part  Secunda, 
Cuenca,  1619.  The  second  part  is  rarer  than  the  first.  The  French  translation  by  Sane, 
Paris,  1809,  in  general  inaccuracy  and  sins  of  omission  and  commission,  rivals  the  worthless 
translation  of  Conde's  History  of  the  Moors,  by  Mons.  Maries :  hos  tut  Romane,  caveio. 


PRELIMINARY   ESSAY.  33 

Gaul,  the  Orlando  Furioso,  and  the  novels  of  Scott.  It  was  translated  into 
foreign  languages.  It  called  forth  a  sympathy  for  the  Moor,  whose  plaintive 
tale  was  told  in  most  touching  ballads,  interspersed  with  the  prose  narrative. 
This  kindly  tone  toward  a  fallen  enemy  gave  offence  to  many  of  the  stern  old 
Spaniards,  who  were  indignant  that  their  Bernardos  and  Cids  should  be  set 
aside  by  those  Ganzuls  and  Abenhamers  ; — forgetting  that  to  extol  them  was 
the  greatest,  although  an  indirect,  compliment  to  those  by  whom  they  had 
been  conquered.  This  book  created  a  pseudo-Arabian  style ;  for  the  fiery 
zeal  of  the  bigot  Ximenes  prevented  any  real  cultivation  of  Arabian  literature. 
By  burning  every  book  on  the  absurd  supposition  that  it  was  the  Koran,  and 
by  deterring  Talavera  and  others  from  translating  Spanish  works  into  the 
Arabic,  the  language  of  the  Moors  in  less  than  half  a  century  ceased  to  be 
understood  in  Spain  ;  where  it  has  ever  since  been  less  investigated  and  ap- 
preciated than  in  any  other  kingdom  of  Europe.  Its  real  influence  on  Spanish 
literature  has  been  very  much  overrated,  nor  do  we  imagine  that  one  tithe  of 
the  so-called  Moorish  ballads  were  ever  composed  by  Moors.  But  we  must 
|    conclude. 

We  trust  that  those  who  have  done  us  the  honor  to  peruse  these  remarks, 

|    will  now  turn  with  increased  zest  to  the  captivating  volume  which  has  given 

I    rise  to  them  ;  they  will  then  reverse  the  hard  lot  of  the  Sybil,  and  reascend 

;    into  the  gorgeous  and  pleasing  car  of  poesy,  from  the  dry  and  grovelling  path 

;    of  prose.     Far  more  easy  and  more  agreeable  would  it  have  been  to  us,  to 

I    have  adorned  our  pages  with  a  nosegay,  culled  from  these  no  longer  exotic 

i    flowers  of  Castilian  romance;  they  are  now  rendered  indigenous  ;  transplanted 

I    by  the  genius  of  Mr.  Lockhart,  they  have  taken  deep  root  and  flourish  in  our 

harder  climate  ;  and  in  truth  the  soil  is  congenial.     Their  manly  tone  of  lib- 

!    erty  and  independence,  their  reflective,  somewhat  saddened  turn,  their  sincere 

i    religious  character,  their  sterling  loyalty,  patriotism,  and  love  of  country, 

never  will  find  a  truer  echo  than  in  honest  English  hearts.     Confidently  do 

we  invite  our  readers  to  the  entire  volume,  in  the  assurance  that  they  will 

.  better  judge  of  the  spirit  of  the  whole,  than  by  any  selections  of  ours,  which 

|    at  best  show  rather  the  turn  of  mind  of  the  selector  than  of  the  original.     Mr. 

I    Lockhart  has  conjured  up  a  boundless  succession  of  scenes  and  actors,  who 

pass  before  our  view  in  a  Banquo  glass ; — Bernardo,  the  hero  of  Roncevalles, 

|    the  personified  principle  of  the  immemorial,  inveterate  resistance  of  Spaniards 

j    against  the  invading  Gaul — when  Christian  and  Moor  forgot  their  own  mutual 

I    hatred  and  death  struggle,  in  the  more  absorbing  common  abhorrence  of  France.  ' 

I    The  Cid — '  My  Cid,  he  who  was  born  in  a  good  hour,'  '  the  honor  of  Spain' — 

j    the  type  and  epitome  of  her  national  character,  whose  horse,  sword,  beard, 


34  PRELIMINARY  ESSAY. 

every  part,  parcel  and  particular,  has  been  made  the  theme  of  a  poem.  Poor 
Blanche !  in  her  lonely  prison,  sighing  like  Mary  Stuart  for  her  lost,  her 
much  loved  France,  and  murdered  by  her  wayward  husband,  Don  Pedro — 
then  comes  his  hour  of  retribution,  the  fratricidal  wrestling  at  Montiel;  the 
bloody  civil  wars,  the  Roses  and  Bosworth  of  Spain — anon  the  scene  shifts  to 
Granada,  to  the  fairy  Alhambra,  to  the  banquet  of  beauty, — the  fountain, 
jereed,  and  tournament.  Then  dark-coming  calamities  cast  their  shadows 
over  joy  and  pomp ;  a  cry  of  wo  from  Alhama,  a  hurrying  and  stirring  in  the 
city,  a  saddling  of  steeds,  a  buckling  on  of  armor,  a  riding  up  and  down  ; — 
the  contest,  the  defeat,  the  triumph  of  the  cross,  the  fall  of  the  crescent,  never 
to  rise  again.  Then  is  heard  the  *  last  sigh  of  the  Moor,'  as  descending  from 
the  hillock  of  Padul,  his  water-standing  eyes  looked  their  last  farewell  at 
those  red  towers,  his  paradise  on  earth,  now  lost  forever.  Then  murmur  out 
the  plaintive  ditties  of  fallen  Granada,  those  Morisco  wails  which  were  for- 
bidden to  be  sung,  lest  the  tear  that  they  called  up  should  be  brushed  away 
by  the  clenched  hand,  which  passed  rapidly  over  the  brow  to  grasp  the  sword 
of  revenge. 

Such  is  the  treat  which  awaits  our  readers.  We  speak  with  the  fond  re- 
membrance of  bygone  years,  when  we  pored  over  these  ballads  on  the  scenes 
themselves  ;  and  now,  '  e'en  in  their  ashes,  glow  the  wonted  fires,'  fanned 
and  rekindled  by  these  delightful  translations.  '  I  never  heard,'  says  the 
Arcadian  Sydney,  '  the  old  song  of  Percie  and  Douglas,  that  I  found  not  my 
'  heart  moved  more  than  with  a  trumpet ;  and  yet  it  is  sung  by  some  blinde 
1  crowder  with  no  rougher  voice  than  rude  stile  ;  which,  beeing  so  eville  ap- 
'  parelled  in  the  dust  and  cobweb  of  that  uncivill  age,  what  would  it  work, 
'  trimmed  in  the  gorgeous  eloquence  of  Pindare  ?'  Not,  think  we,  so  much 
as  in  its  own  simple  voice — which  is  that  of  our  Shakspeare — '  nature's  own 
1  darling' — '  who  loved  a  ballad  e'en  too  well ;'  and  who  has  embalmed  in  his 
own  never-dying  pages  many  a  gem  of  our  own  precious  popular  poetry. 
Just  as  Cervantes,  the  Shakspeare  of  Spain,  influenced  by  a  kindred  feeling, 
interwove  into  his  immortal  Don  Quixote  a  rich  tissue  of  the  native  songs  of 
his  land.  Those  great  searchers  into  the  heart  of  man  well  knew  how  much 
this  class  of  simple  poesy  can  refresh  the  bright  spark  within  us,  when 
dimmed  by  the  cares  and  earthy  necessities  of  our  mortal  coil. — 

'  Now  good  Cesario,  but  that  piece  of  song, 
That  old  and  antique  song  we  had  last  night : 
Methought  it  did  relieve  my  passion  much 
More  than  the  light  airs,  and  recollected  terms, 
Of  these  most  brisk  and  giddy-paced  times.' 


INTRODUCTION. 


The  intention  of  this  publication  is  to  furnish  the  English  reader  with 
some  notion  of  that  old  Spanish  minstrelsy,  which  has  been  preserved  in  the 
different  Cancioneros  and  Romanceros  of  the  sixteenth  century.  That  great 
mass  of  popular  poetry  has  never  yet  received  in  its  own  country  the  atten- 
tion to  which  it  is  entitled.  While  hundreds  of  volumes  have  been  written 
about  authors  who  were,  at  the  best,  ingenious  imitators  of  classical  or  Italian 
models,  not  one,  of  the  least  critical  merit,  has  been  bestowed  upon  those  old 
and  simpler  poets  who  were  contented  with  the  native  inspirations  of  Casti- 
lian  pride.  No  Spanish  Percy,  or  Ellis,  or  Ritson,  has  arisen  to  perform  what 
no  one  but  a  Spaniard  can  entertain  the  smallest  hope  of  achieving. 

Mr.  Bouterwek,  in  his  excellent  History  of  Spanish  Literature  (Book  i., 
Sect.  1,)  complained  that  no  attempt  had  ever  been  made  even  to  arrange 
the  old  Spanish  ballads  in  any  thing  like  chronological  order.  An  ingenious 
countryman  of  his  own,  Mr.  Depping,  has  since,  in  some  measure,  supplied 
this  defect.  He  has  arranged  the  historical  ballads  according  to  the  chrono- 
logy of  the  persons  and  events  which  they  celebrate  ;  for  even  this  obvious 
matter  had  not  been  attended  to  by  the  original  Spanish  collectors  ;  but  he 
has  modestly  and  judiciously  refrained  from  attempting  the  chronological 
arrangement  of  them  as  compositions ;  feeling,  of  course,  that  no  person  can 
ever  acquire  such  a  delicate  knowledge  of  a  language  not  his  own,  as  might 
enable  him  to  distinguish,  with  accuracy,  between  the  different  shades  of  an- 
tiquity,— or  even  perhaps  to  draw,  with  certainty  and  precision,  the  broader 
line  between  that  which  is  of  genuine  antiquity,  and  that  which  is  mere  mo- 
dern imitation.  By  far  the  greater  part  of  the  following  translations  are  from 
pieces  which  the  reader  will  find  in  Mr.  Depping's  Collection,  published  at 
Leipsig  in  1817. 

It  seems,  therefore,  in  the  present  state  of  things,  impossible  to  determine 
to  what  period  the  composition  of  the  oldest  Spanish  ballads  now  extant  ought 
to  be  referred.    Thejirst  Cancionero,  that  of  Ferdinand  de  Castillo,  was  pub- 


38 


INTRODUCTION. 


lished  so  early  as  1510.  In  it,  a  considerable  number,  both  of  the  historical 
and  of  the  romantic  class  of  ballads,  are  included :  and  as  the  title  of  the 
book  itself  bears  '  Obras  de  todos  o  de  los  mas  principales  Trobadores  de 
Espana,  assi  antiguos  como  modernos,'  it  is  clear  that  at  least  a  certain 
number  of  these  pieces  were  considered  as  entitled  to  the  appellation  of 
1  ancient,'  in  the  year  1510. 

The  Cancionero  de  Romances,  published  at  Antwerp  in  1555,  and  after- 
wards often  reprinted  under  the  name  of  Romancero,  was  the  earliest  collec- 
tion that  admitted  nothing  but  ballads.  The  Romancero  Historiado  of  Lucas 
Rodriguez  appeared  at  Alcala,  in  1579 ;  the  Collection  of  Lorenzo  de  Sepul- 
veda,  at  Antwerp,  in  1566.  The  ballads  of  the  Cid  were  first  published  in  a 
collected  form  in  1615,  by  Escobar. 

But  there  are  not  wanting  circumstances  which  would  seem  to  establish, 
for  many  of  the  Spanish  ballads,  a  claim  to  antiquity  much  higher  than  is  to 
be  inferred  from  any  of  these  dates.  In  the  oldest  edition  of  the  Cancionero 
General,  for  example,  there  are  several  pieces  which  bear  the  name  of  Don 
Juan  Manuel.  If  they  were  composed  by  the  celebrated  author  of  Count 
Lucanor  (and  it  appears  very  unlikely  that  any  person  of  less  distinguished 
rank  should  have  assumed  that  style  without  some  addition  or  distinction,) 
we  must  carry  them  back  at  least  as  far  as  the  year  1362,  when  the  Prince 
Don  Juan  Manuel  died.  But  this  is  not  all.  The  ballads  bearing  the  name 
of  that  illustrious  author  are  so  far  from  appearing  to  be  among  the  most  an- 
cient in  the  Cancionero,  that  even  a  very  slight  examination  must  be  sufficient 
to  establish  exactly  the  reverse.  The  regularity  and  completeness  of  their 
rhymes  alone  are,  in  fact,  quite  enough  to  satisfy  any  one  who  is  acquainted 
with  the  usual  style  of  the  redondillas,  that  the  ballads  of  Don  Juan  Manuel 
are  among  the  most  modern  in  the  whole  collection.* 

But,  indeed,  whatever  may  be  the  age  of  the  ballads  now  extant,  that  the 
Spaniards  had  ballads  of  the  same  general  character,  and  on  the  same  sub- 


*  A  single  stanza  of  one  of  them  will  be  enough : — 

'  Gritando  va  el  caballero  publicando  su  gran  mal, 
Vestidas  ropas  de  luto,  aforradas  en  sayal ; 
.         Por  las  montes  sin  camino  con  dolor  y  suspirar, 
Llorando  a  pie  desalco,  jurando  de  no  tornar. ' 


Compare  this  with  such  a  ballad  as — 


'  No  te  espantes,  cabarello,  ni  tengas  tamana  grima ; 
Hija  soy  del  buen  Rey  y  de  la  Reyna  de  Castilla.' 


INTRODUCTION. 


39 


jects,  at  a  very  early  period  of  their  national  history,  is  quite  certain.  In  the 
General  Chronicle  of  Spain,  which  was  compiled  in  the  thirteenth  century, 
at  the  command  of  Alphonso  the  Wise,  allusions  are  perpetually  made  to  the 
popular  songs  of  the  Minstrels,  or  Joglares.  Now,  it  is  evident  that  the 
phraseology  of  compositions  handed  down  orally  from  one  generation  to  an- 
other, must  have  undergone,  in  the  course  of  time,  a  great  many  alterations  ; 
yet,  in  point  of  fact,  the  language  of  by  far  the  greater  part  of  the  Historical 
Ballads  in  the  Romancero,  does  appear  to  carry  the  stamp  of  an  antiquity 
quite  as  remote  as  that  used  by  the  compilers  of  the  General  Chronicle  them- 
selves. Nay,  some  of  those  very  expressions  from  which  Mr.  Southey  would 
seem  to  infer  that  the  Chronicle  of  the  Cid  is  a  more  ancient  composition 
than  the  General  Chronicle  of  Spain  (which  last  was  written  before 
1384,)  are  quite  of  common  occurrence  in  these  same  ballads,  which  Mr. 
Southey  considers  as  of  comparatively  modern  origin.* 

All  this,  however,  is  a  controversy  in  which  few  English  readers  can  be 
expected  to  take  much  interest.  And,  besides,  even  granting  that  the 
Spanish  ballads  were  composed  but  a  short  time  before  the  first  Cancioneros 
were  published,  it  would  still  be  certain  that  they  form  by  far  the  oldest,  as 
well  as  largest,  collection  of  popular  poetry,  properly  so  called,  that  is  to  be 
found  in  the  literature  of  any  European  nation  whatever.  Had  there  been 
published  at  London,  in  the  reign  of  our  Henry  VIII.,  a  vast  collection  of 
English  ballads  about  the  wars  of  the  Plantagenets,  what  illustration  and 
annotation  would  not  that  collection  have  received  long  ere  now  ! 

How  the  old  Spaniards  should  have  come  to  be  so  much  more  wealthy  in 
this  sort  of  possession  than  any  of  their  neighbors,  it  is  not  very  easy  to  say. 
They  had  their  taste  for  warlike  song  in  common  with  all  the  other  members 
of  the  great  Gothic  family  ;  and  they  had  a  fine  climate,  affording,  of  course 
more  leisure  for  amusement  than  could  have  been  enjoyed  beneath  the 
rougher  sky  of  the  north.  The  flexibility  of  their  beautiful  language,  and 
the  extreme  simplicity  of  the  versification  adopted  in  their  baDads,  must,  no 
doubt,  have  lightened  the  labor,  and  may  have  consequently  increased  the 
number  of  their  professional  minstrels. 

To  tell  some  well-known  story  of  love  or  heroism,  in  stanzas  of  four  octo- 
syllabic lines,  the  second  and  the  fourth  terminating  in  the  same  rhyme,  or 
in  what  the  musical  accompaniment  could  make  to  have  some  appearance  of 
being  the  same, — this  was  all  that  the  art  of  the  Spanish  coplero,  in  its  most 
perfect  state,  ever  aspired  to.     But  a  line  of  seven  or  of  six  syllables  was 


*  Sec  the  Introduction  to  Mr.  Southey 's  Chronicle  of  the  Cid,  p.  v. — (Note.) 


40 


INTRODUCTION. 


admitted  whenever  that  suited  the  maker  better  than  one  of  eight :  the 
stanza  itself  varied  from  four  to  six  lines,  with  equal  ease ;  and,  as  for  the 
matter  of  rhyme,  it  was  quite  sufficient  that  the  two  corresponding  syllables 
contained  the  same  vowel.*  In  a  language  less  abundant  in  harmonious 
vocables,  such  laxity  could  scarcely  have  satisfied  the  ear.  But,  the  Spanish 
is,  like  the  sister  Italian,  music  in  itself,  though  music  of  a  bolder  character. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  structure  of  the  redondillas,  as  Spanish  writers  gene- 
rally speak  of  it,  when  I  have  said  that  the  stanzas  consist  of  four  lines.  But 
a  distinguished  German  antiquary,  Mr.  Grimm,  who  published,  a  few  years 
ago,  a  little  sylva  of  Spanish  ballads,  expresses  his  opinion  that  the  stanza 
was  composed  in  reality  of  two  long  lines,  and  that  these  had  subsequently 
been  cut  into  four,  exactly  as  we  know  to  have  been  the  case  in  regard  to 
our  own  old  English  ballad-stanza.  Mr.  Grimm,  in  his  small,  but  very  ele- 
gant collection,  prints  the  Spanish  verses  in  what  he  thus  supposes  to  have 
been  their  original  shape  ;f  and  I  have  followed  his  example  in  the  form  of 
the  stanza  which  I  have  for  the  most  part  used  in  my  translations,  as  well  as 
in  quoting  occasionally  from  the  originals. 

So  far  as  I  have  been  able,  I  have  followed  Mr.  Depping  in  the  classifica- 
tion of  the  specimens  which  follow. 

The  reader  will  find  placed  together  at  the  beginning  those  ballads  which 
treat  of  persons  and  events  known  in  the  authentic  history  of  Spain.  A  few 
concerning  the  unfortunate  Don  Roderick,  and  the  Moorish  conquest  of  the 
eighth  century,  form  the  commencement ;  and  the  series  is  carried  down, 
though  of  course  with  wide  gaps  and  intervals,  yet  so  as  to  furnish  something 
like  a  connected  sketch  of  the  gradual  progress  of  the  Christian  arms,  until 
the  surrender  of  Granada,  in  the  year  1492,  and  the  consequent  flight  of  the 
last  Moorish  sovereign  from  the  Peninsula. 


Or,- 


*  For  example  : — 

'  Y  arrastrando  luengos  lutos 

Entraron  treynt&Jidalgos 
Escuderos  de  Ximena 
Hija  del  conde  Logano.' 

'  A  Don  Alvaro  de  Luna 
Condestable  de  Caslilla 
El  rey  Don  Juan  el  Segundo 
«  Con  mal  semblante  lo  mira.' 

But,  indeed,  even  this  might  be  dispensed  with. 

t  '  Sylva  de  Viejos  Romances,  publicada  por  Jacobo  Grimm.    Vienna,  1815.' 


INTRODUCTION. 


41 


Throughout  that  very  extensive  body  of  historical  ballads  from  which 
these  specimens  have  been  selected,  there  prevails  an  uniformly  high  tone  of 
sentiment, — -such  as  might  have  been  expected  to  distinguish  the  popular 
poetry  of  a  nation  proud,  haughty,  free,  and  engaged  in  continual  warfare 
against  enemies  of  different  faith  and  manners,  but  not  less  proud  and  not 
less  warlike  than  themselves.  Those  petty  disputes  and  dissensions  which 
so  long  divided  the  Christian  princes,  andT  consequently,  favored  and  main- 
tained the  power  of  the  formidable  enemy  whom  they  all  equally  hated ; 
those  struggles  between  prince  and  nobility,  which  were  productive  of  similar 
effects  after  the  crowns  of  Leon  and  Castile  had  been  united  ;  those  domestic 
tragedies  which  so  often  stained  the  character  and  weakened  the  arms  of  the 
Spanish  kings  ;  in  a  word,  all  the  principal  features  of  the  old  Spanish 
history  may  be  found,  more  or  less  distinctly  shadowed  forth,  among  the  pro- 
ductions of  these  unflattering  minstrels. 

Of  the  language  of  Spain,  as  it  existed  under  the  reign  of  the  Visigoth 
kings,  we  possess  no  monuments.  The  laws  and  the  chronicles  of  the  period 
were  equally  written  in  Latin ;  and  although  both,  in  all  probability,  must 
have  been  frequently  rendered  into  more  vulgar  dialects,  no  traces  of  any 
such  versions  have  survived  the  many  storms  and  struggles  of  religious  and 
political  dissension,  of  which  this  interesting  region  has  since  been  made  the 
scene.  To  what  precise  extent,  therefore,  the  language  and  literature  of  the 
Peninsula  felt  the  influence  of  that  great  revolution  which  subjected  the  far 
larger  part  of  her  territory  to  the  sway  of  a  Mussulman  sceptre,  and  how 
much  or  how  little  of  what  we  at  this  hour  admire  or  condemn  in  the  poetry 
of  Portugal,  Arragon,  Castile,  is  really  not  of  Spanish,  but  of  Moorish 
origin, — these  are  matters  which  have  divided  all  the  great  writers  of  literary 
history,  and  which  we,  in  truth,  have  little  chance  of  ever  seeing  accurately 
decided.  No  one,  however,  who  considers  of  what  elements  the  Christian 
population  of  Spain  was  originally  composed,  and  in  what  shapes  the  mind 
of  nations,  every  way  kindred  to  that  population,  was  expressed  during  the 
middle  ages,  can  have  any  doubt  that  great  and  remarkable  influence  was 
exerted  over  Spanish  thought  and  feeling— and,  therefore,  over  Spanish 
language  and  poetry— --by  the  influx  of  those  Oriental  tribes  that  occupied, 
for  seven  long  centuries,  the  fairest  provinces  of  the  Peninsula. 

Spain,  although  of  all  the  countries  which  owned  the  authority  of  the 
Caliphs  she  was  the  most  remote  from  the  seat  of  their  empire,  appears  to 
have  been  the  very  first  in  point  of  cultivation  ; — iter  governors  having,  for  at 
least  two  centuries,  emulated  one  another  in  affording  every  species  of  en- 
couragement and  protection  to  all  those  liberal  arts  and  sciences  which  first 


42 


INTRODUCTION. 


flourished  at  Bagdad  under  the  sway  of  Haroon  Al-Raschid,  and  his  less  cele- 
brated, but,  perhaps,  still  more  enlightened  son,  Al-Mamoun.  Beneath  the 
wise  and  munificent  patronage  of  these  rulers,  the  cities  of  Spain,  within 
three  hundred  years  after  the  defeat  of  King  Roderick,  had  been  every  where 
penetrated  with  a  spirit  of  elegance,  tastefulness,  and  philosophy,  which 
afforded  the  strongest  of  all  possible  contrasts  to  the  contemporary  condition 
of  the  other  kingdoms  of  Europe.  At  Cordova,  Granada,  Seville,  and  many 
now  less  considerable  towns,  colleges  and  libraries  had  been  founded  and 
endowed  in  the  most  splendid  manner, — where  the  most  exact  and  the  most 
elegant  of  sciences  were  cultivated  together  with  equal  zeal.  Averroes 
translated  and  expounded  Aristotle  at  Cordova  ;  Ben-Zaid  and  Aboul-Mander 
wrote  histories  of  their  nation  at  Valencia ;  Abdel-Maluk  set  the  first  ex- 
ample of  that  most  interesting  and  useful  species  of  writing,  by  which  Moreri 
and  others  have  since  rendered  services  so  important  to  ourselves  ;  and  even 
an  Arabian  Encyclopaedia  was  compiled,  under  the  direction  of  Mohammed- 
Aba-Abdallah,  at  Granada.  Ibn-el-Beither  went  forth  from  Malaga  to  search 
through  all  the  mountains  and  plains  of  Europe  for  every  thing  that  might 
enable  him  to  perfect  his  favorite  sciences  of  botany  and  lithology,  and  his 
works  still  remain  to  excite  the  admiration  of  all  who  are  in  a  condition  to 
comprehend  their  value.  The  Jew  of  Tudela  was  the  worthy  successor  of 
Galen  and  Hippocrates  :  while  chemistry,  and  other  branches  of  medical  sci- 
ence, almost  unknown  to  the  ancients,  received  their  first  astonishing  de- 
velopments from  Al-Rasi  and  Avicenna.  Rhetoric  and  poetry  were  not  less 
diligently  studied ;  and,  in  a  word,  it  would  be  difficult  to  point  out,  in  the 
whole  history  of  the  world,  a  time  or  a  country  where  the  activity  of  the 
human  intellect  was  more  extensively,  or  usefully,  or  gracefully  exerted,  than 
in  Spain,  while  the  Mussulman  sceptre  yet  retained  any  portion  of  that  vigor 
which  it  had  originally  received  from  the  conduct  and  heroism  of  Tarifa. 

Although  the  difference  of  religion  prevented  the  Moors  and  their  Spanish 
subjects  from  ever  being  completely  melted  into  one  people,  yet  it  appears 
that  nothing  could,  on  the  whole,  be  more  mild  than  the  conduct  of  the 
Moorish  government  towards  the  Christian  population  of  the  country,  during 
this  their  splendid  period  of  undisturbed  dominion.  Their  learning  and  their 
arts  they  liberally  communicated  to  all  who  desired  such  participation  ;  and 
the  Christian  youth  studied  freely  and  honorably  at  the  feet  of  Jewish  physi- 
cians and  Mahommedan  philosophers.  Communication  of  studies  and  acquire- 
ments, continued  through  such  a  space  of  years,  could  not  have  failed  to 
break  down,  on  both  sides,  many  of  the  barriers  of  religious  prejudice,  and  to 
nourish  a  spirit  of  kindliness  and  charity  among  the  more  cultivated  portions 


INTRODUCTION.  43 

of  either  people.  The  intellect  of  the  Christian  Spaniards  could  not  be  un- 
grateful for  the  rich  gifts  it  was  every  day  receiving  from  their  misbelieving 
masters  :  while  the  benevolence  with  which  instructors  ever  regard  willing 
disciples,  must  have  tempered  in  the  minds  of  the  Arabs  the  sentiments  of 
haughty  superiority  natural  to  the  breasts  of  conquerors. 

By  degrees,  however,  the  scattered  remnants  of  unsubdued  Visigoths,  who 
had  sought  and  found  refuge  among  the  mountains  of  Asturias  and  Gallicia, 
began  to  gather  the  strength  of  numbers  and  of  combination,  and  the  Mussul- 
men  saw  different  portions  of  their  empire  successively  wrested  from  their 
hands  by  leaders  whose  descendants  assumed  the  titles  of  Kings  in  Oviedo 
and  Navarre  ;  and  of  Counts  in  Castile,  Soprarbia,  Arragon,  and  Barcelona. 
From  the  time  when  these  principalities  were  established,  till  all  their 
strength  was  united  in  the  persons  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  a  perpetual 
war  may  be  said  to  have  subsisted  between  the  professors  of  the  two  reli- 
gions ;  and  the  natural  jealousy  of  Moorish  governors  must  have  gradually, 
but  effectually,  diminished  the  comfort  of  the  Christians  who  yet  lived  under 
their  authority.  Were  we  to  seek  our  ideas  of  the  period  only  from  the 
events  recorded  in  its  chronicles,  we  should  be  led  to  believe  that  nothing 
could  be  more  deep  and  fervid  than  the  spirit  of  mutual  hostility  which  pre- 
vailed among  all  the  adherents  of  the  opposite  faiths :  but  external  events 
are  sometimes  not  the  surest  guides  to  the  spirit  whether  of  peoples  or  of 
ages,  and  the  ancient  popular  poetry  of  Spain  may  be  referred  to  for  proofs, 
which  cannot  be  considered  as  either  of  dubious  or  of  trivial  value,  that  the 
rage  of  hostility  had  not  sunk  quite  so  far  as  might  have  been  imagined  into 
the  minds  and  hearts  of  very  many  that  were  engaged  in  the  conflict 

There  is,  indeed,  nothing  more  natural,  at  first  sight,  than  to  reason  in 
some  measure  from  a  nation  as  it  is  in  our  own  day,  back  to  what  it  was  a 
few  centuries  ago  ;  but  nothing  could  tend  to  the  production  of  greater  mis- 
takes than  such  a  mode  of  judging  applied  to  the  case  of  Spain.  In  the  erect 
and  high-spirited  peasantry  of  that  country,  we  still  see  the  genuine  and. 
uncorrupted  descendants  of  their  manly  forefathers  ;  but  in  every  other  part 
of  the  population,  the  progress  of  corruption  appears  to  have  been  not  less 
powerful  than  rapid  :  and  the  higher  we  ascend  in  the  scale  of  society,  the 
more  distinct  and  mortifying  is  the  spectacle  of  moral  not  less  than  of  phy- 
sical deterioration.  This  universal  falling  off  of  men  may  be  traced  very 
easily  to  an  universal  falling  off  in  regard  to  every  point  of  faith  and  feeling 
most  essential  to  the  formation  and  preservation  of  a  national  character.  We 
have  been  accustomed  to  consider  the  modern  Spaniards  as  the  most  bigoted, 
and  enslaved,  and  ignorant  of  Europeans  ;  but  we  must  not  forget,  that  the 


INTRODUCTION. 

Spaniards  of  three  centuries  back  were,  in  all  respects,  a  very  different  set 
of  beings.  Castile,  in  the  first  regulation  of  her  constitution,  was  as  free  as 
any  nation  needs  to  be,  for  all  the  purposes  of  social  security  and  individual 
happiness.  Her  kings  were  her  captains  and  her  judges,  the  chiefs  and  the 
models  of  a  gallant  nobility,  and  the  protectors  of  a  manly  and  independent 
peasantry  :  but  the  authority  with  which  they  were  invested  was  guarded  by 
the  most  accurate  limitations  ;  nay — in  case  they  should  exceed  the  boundary 
of  their  legal  power — the  statute-book  of  the  realm  itself  contained  exact 
rules  for  the  conduct  of  a  constitutional  insurrection  to  recall  them  to  their 
duty,  or  to  punish  them  for  its  desertion.  Every  order  of  society  had,  more 
or  less  directly,  its  representatives  in  the  national  council;  every  Spaniard, 
of  whatever  degree,  was  penetrated  with  a  sense  of  his  own  dignity  as  a 
freeman — his  own  nobility  as  a  descendant  of  the  Visigoths.  And  it  is  well 
remarked  by  an  elegant  historian  of  our  day,*  that,  even  to  this  hour,  the 
influence  of  this  happy  order  of  things  still  continues  to  be  felt  in  Spain, — 
where  manners,  and  language,  and  literature,  have  all  received  indelibly  a 
stamp  of  courts,  and  aristocracy,  and  proud  feeling, — which  affords  a  striking 
contrast  to  what  may  be  observed  in  modern  Italy,  where  the  only  freedom 
that  ever  existed  had  its  origin  and  residence  among  citizens  and  merchants. 
The  civil  liberty  of  the  old  Spaniards  could  scarcely  have  existed  so  long 
as  it  did,  in  the  presence  of  any  feeling  so  black  and  noisome  as  the  bigotry 
of  modern  Spain  ;  but  this  was  never  tried  ;  for  down  to  the  time  of  Charles 
V.  no  man  has  any  right  to  say  that  the  Spaniards  were  a  bigoted  people- 
One  of  the  worst  features  of  their  modern  bigotry — their  extreme  and  servile 
subjection  to  the  authority  of  the  Pope — is  entirely  a-wanting  in  the  picture 
of  their  ancient  spirit  In  the  12th  century,  the  Kings  of  Arragon  were  the 
protectors  of  the  Albigenses  ;  and  their  Pedro  II.  himself  died  in  1213,  fight- 
ing bravely  against  the  red  cross,  for  the  cause  of  tolerance.  In  1268,  two 
broJiers  of  the  King  of  Castile  left  the  banners  of  the  Infidels,  beneath  which 
they  were  serving  at  Tunis,  with  eight  hundred  Castilian  gentlemen,  for  the 
purpose  of  coming  to  Italy  and  assisting  the  Neapolitans  in  their  resistance 
to  the  tyranny  of  the  Pope  and  Charles  of  Anjou.  In  the  great  schism  of 
the  West,  as  it  is  called  (1378,)  Pedro  IV.  embraced  the  party  which  the 
Catholic  Church  regards  as  schismatic.  That  feud  was  not  allayed  for  more 
than  a  hundred  years,  and  Alphonso  V.  was  well  paid  for  consenting  to  lay  it 
aside ;  while,  down  to  the  time  of  Charles  V.,  the  whole  of  the  Neapolitan 
Princes  of  the  House  of  Arragon  may  be  said  to  have  lived  in  a  6tate  of  open 


Sismondi's  Literature  du  Midi. 


INTRODUCTION.  45 

enmity  against  the  Papal  See  ; — sometimes  excommunicated  for  generations 
together — seldom  apparently — never  cordially  reconciled.  When,  finally, 
Ferdinand  the  Catholic  made  his  first  attempt  to  introduce  the  Inquisition 
into  his  kingdom,  almost  the  whole  nation  took  up  arms  to  resist  him.  The 
Grand  Inquisitor  was  killed,  and  every  one  of  his  creatures  was  compelled  to 
leave,  for  a  season,  the  yet  free  soil  of  Arragon. 

But  the  strongest  and  hest  proof  of  the  comparative  liberality  of  the  old 
Spaniards  is,  as  I  have  already  said,  to  be  found  in  their  Ballads.  Throughout 
the  far  greater  part  of  those  compositions,  there  breathes  a  certain  spirit  of 
charity  and  humanity  towards  those  Moorish  enemies  with  whom  the  combats 
of  the  national  heroes  are  represented.  The  Spaniards  and  the  Moors  lived 
together  in  their  villages  beneath  the  calmest  of  skies,  and  surrounded  with 
the  most  beautiful  of  landscapes.  In  spite  of  their  adverse  faiths,  in  spite  of 
their  adverse  interests,  they  had  much  in  common.  Loves,  and  sports,  and 
recreations, — nay,  sometimes  their  haughtiest  recollections,  were  in  common, 
and  even  their  heroes  were  the  same.  Bernardo  del  Carpio,  Fernan  Gonzalez, 
the  Cid  himself, — almost  every  one  of  the  favorite  heroes  of  the  Spanish  na- 
tion, had,  at  some  period  or  other  of  his  life,  fought  beneath  the  standard  of 
the  Crescent,  and  the  minstrels  of  either  nation  might,  therefore,  in  regard  to 
some  instances  at  least,  have  equal  pride  in  the  celebration  of  their  prowess. 
The  praises  which  the  Arab  poets  granted  to  them  in  their  Mouwachchah,  or 
girdle  verses,  were  repaid  by  liberal  encomiums  on  Moorish  valor  and  gene- 
rosity in  Castilian  and  Arragonese  Redondillas.  Even  in  the  ballads  most 
exclusively  devoted  to  the  celebration  of  feats  of  Spanish  heroism,  it  is  quite 
common  to  find  some  redeeming  compliment  to  the  Moors  mixed  with  the 
strain  of  exultation.  Nay,  even  in  the  more  remote  and  ideal  chivalries  cele- 
brated in  the  Castilian  Ballads,  the  parts  of  glory  and  greatness  are  almost 
as  frequently  attributed  to  Moors  as  to  Christians  ; — Calaynos  was  a  name  as 
familiar  as  Gayferos.  At  a  somewhat  later  period,  when  the  conquest  of 
Granada  had  mingled  the  Spaniards  still  more  effectually  with  the  persons 
and  manners  of  the  Moors,  we  find  the  Spanish  poets  still  fonder  of  cele- 
brating the  heroic  achievements  of  their  old  Saracen  rivals  ;  and,  without 
doubt,  this  their  liberality  towards  the  •  Knights  of  Granada,  Gentlemen, 
albeit  Moors,' 

'  Caballeros  Granadinos 
Aunque  Moros  hijos  d'algo,' 

must  have  been  very  gratifying  to  the  former  subjects  of  '  The  Baby  King.' 
It  must  have  counteracted  the  bigotry  of  Confessors  and  Mollahs,  and  tended 
to  inspire  both  nations  with  sentiments  of  kindness  and  mutual  esteem. 


46 


INTRODUCTION. 


Bernard  of  Carpio,  above  all  the  rest,  was  the  common  property  and  pride 
of  both  peoples.  Of  his  all-romantic  life,  the  most  romantic  incidents  be- 
longed equally  to  both.  It  was  with  Moors  that  he  allied  himself  when  he 
rose  up  to  demand  vengeance  from  King  Alphonso  for  the  murder  of  his 
father.  It  was  with  Moorish  brethren  in  arms  that  he  marched  to  fight 
against  the  Frankish  army  for  the  independence  of  the  Spanish  soil.  It  was 
in  front  of  a  half-Leonese,  half-Moorish  host,  that  Bernard  couched  his  lance, 
victorious  alike  over  valor  and  magic  : — 

'  When  Rowland  brave  and  Olivier, 
And  every  Paladin  and  Peer 
On  Roncesvalles  died.' 

A  few  ballads,  unquestionably  of  Moorish  origin,  and  apparently  rather  of 
the  romantic  than  of  the  historical  class,  are  given  in  a  section  by  themselves. 
The  originals  are  valuable,  as  monuments  of  the  manners  and  customs  of  a 
most  singular  race. 

Composed  originally  by  a  Moor  or  a  Spaniard,  (it  is  often  very  difficult  to 
determine  by  which  of  the  two,)  they  were  sung  in  the  villages  of  Andalusia 
in  either  language,  but  to  the  same  tunes,  and  listened  to  with  equal  pleasure 
by  man,  woman,  and  child, — Mussulman  and  Christian.  In  these  strains, 
whatever  other  merits  or  demerits  they  may  possess,  we  are,  at  least,  pre- 
sented with  a  lively  picture  of  the  life  of  the  Arabian  Spaniard.  We  see 
him  as  he  was  in  reality,  'like  steel  among  weapons, — like  wax  among 

women,' — 

'  Fuerte  qual  azero  entre  armas, 

Y  qual  cera  entre  las  damas.' 

There  came,  indeed,  a  time  when  the  fondness  of  the  Spaniards  for  their 
Moorish  Ballads  was  made  matter  of  reproach, — but  this  was  not  till  long 
after  the  period  when  Spanish  bravery  had  won  back  the  last  fragments  of 
the  Peninsula  from  Moorish  hands.  It  was  thus  that  a  Spanish  poet  of  the 
after  day  expressed  himself : — 

'  Vayase  con  Dios  Gazul ! 
Lleve  el  diablo  a  Celindaxa ! 

Y  buelvan  estas  marlotas 

A  quien  se  las  dio  prestadas  ! 

4  Que  quiere  Dona  Maria 
Ver  baylar  a  Dona  Juana, 
Una  gallarda  espanola, 
Que  no  ay  danca  mas  gallarda : 


INTRODUCTION.  47 

1  Y  Don  Pedro  y  Don  Rodrigo 
Vestir  otras  mas  galanas, 
Ver  quien  son  estos  danzantes 

Y  conocer  estas  damas ; 

'  Y  el  Senor  Alcayde  quiere 
Saber  quien  es  Abenamar, 
Estos  Zegris  y  Aliatares, 
Adulces,  Zaydes,  y  Andallas ; 

'  Y  de  que  repartimiento 
Son  Celinda  y  Guadalara, 
Estos  Moros  y  Estas  Moras 
Que  en  todas  las  bodas  danzan  ; 

'  Y  por  hablarlo  mas  claro, 
Assi  tenguan  buena  pascua, 
Ha  venido  a  su  noticia 
Que  ay  Cristianos  en  Espana.' 

These  sarcasms  were  not  without  their  answer  ;  for,  says  another  poem  in 
the  Romancero  General : — 

'  Si  es  Espanol  Don  Rodrigo, 
Espanol  fue  el  fuerte  Andalla ; 

Y  sepa  el  Senor  Alcayde 
Que  tambien  lo  es  Guadalara.' 

But  the  best  argument  follows  : — 

'  No  es  culpa  si  de  los  Moros 
Los  valientes  hechos  cantan, 
Pues  tanto  mas  resplendecen 
Nuestras  celebras  hazanas.' 

The  greater  part  of  the  Moorish  Ballads  refer  to  the  period  immediately- 
preceding  the  downfall  of  the  throne  of  Granada — the  amours  of  that  splendid 
court — the  bull-feasts  and  other  spectacles  in  which  its  lords  and  ladies  de- 
lighted no  less  than  those  of  the  Christian  courts  of  Spain — the  bloody  feuds 
of  the  two  great  families  of  the  Zegris  and  the  Abencerrages,  which  contri- 
buted so  largely  to  the  ruin  of  the  Moorish  cause — and  the  incidents  of  that 
last  war  itself,  in  which  the  power  of  the  Mussulman  was  entirely  overthrown 
by  the  arms  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella.  To  some  readers  it  may,  perhaps, 
occur,  that  the  part  ascribed  to  Moorish  females  in  these  Ballads  is  not  always 
exactly  in  the  Oriental  taste  ;  but  the  pictures  still  extant  on  the  walls  of  the 


48 


INTRODUCTION. 


Alhambra  contain  abundant  proofs  how  unfair  it  would  be  to  judge  from  the 
manners  of  any  Mussulman  nation  of  our  day,  of  those  of  the  refined  and 
elegant  Spanish  Moors. 

The  specimens  of  which  the  third  and  largest  section  consists,  are  taken 
from  amongst  the  vast  multitude  of  miscellaneous  and  romantic  ballads  in  the 
old  Cancioneros.  The  subjects  of  a  number  of  these  are  derived  from  the 
fabulous  Chronicle  of  Turpin ;  and  the  Knights  of  Charlemagne's  Round- 
Table  appear  in  all  their  gigantic  lineaments.  But  the  greater  part  are  formed 
precisely  of  the  same  sort  of  materials  which  supplied  our  own  ancient  bal- 
lad-makers, both  the  English  and  the  Scottish. 

In  the  original  Spanish  collections,  songs,  both  of  the  serious  and  of  the 
comic  kind,  are  mingled  without  scruple  among  their  romantic  ballads ;  and 
one  or  two  specimens  of  these  also  have  been  attempted  towards  the  conclu- 
sion of  the  following  pages. 


Edinburgh,  1823. 


HISTOBICAHL  BAHLABSc 


£ije  SLameutatton  of  Bon  Hofcertcft. 


The  treason  of  Count  Julian,  and,  indeed,  the  whole  history  of  King 
Roderick,  and  the  downfall  of  the  gothic  monarchy  in  Spain,  have  been  so 
effectually  made  known  to  the  English  reader  by  Mr.  Southey  and  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  that  it  would  be  impertinent  to  say  any  thing  of  these  matters  here. 
The  ballad,  a  version  of  which  follows,  appears  to  be  one  of  the  oldest  among 
the  great  number  relating  to  the  Moorish  conquest  of  Spain.  One  verse  of 
it  is  quoted,  and  several  parodied,  in  the  Second  Part  of  Don  Quixote,  in  the 
inimitable  chapter  of  the  Puppet-show  :^ 

1  The  general  rout  of  the  puppets  being  over,  Don  Quixote's  fury  began  to 
abate ;  and,  with  a  more  pacified  countenance,  turning  to  the  company, — 
Well,  now,  said  he,  when  all  is  done,  long  live  knight-errantry  ;  long  let  it 
live,  I  say,  above  all  things  whatsoever  in  this  world  ! — Ay,  ay,  said  Master 
Peter,  in  a  doleful  tone,  let  it  live  long  for  me,  so  I  may  die  ;  for  why  should 
I  live  so  unhappy  as  to  say  with  King  Rodrigo,  Yesterday  I  was  lord  of  Spain, 
to-day  have  not  a  foot  of  land  I  can  call  mine  ?  It  is  not  half  an  hour,  nay, 
scarce  a  moment,  since  I  had  kings  and  emperors  at  command.  I  had  horses 
in  abundance,  and  chests  and  bags  full  of  fine  things  ;  but  now  you  see  me 
a  poor,  sorry,  unflone  man,  quite  and  clean  broke  and  cast  down,  and,  in  short, 
a  mere  beggar.  What  is  worst  of  all,  I  have  lost  my  ape  too,  who,  I  am 
sure,  will  make  me  sweat  ere  I  catch  him  again.' 


4  But  still  where  through  the  press  of  war  he  went, 
Half-armed,  and  like  a  lover  seeking  death, 
The  arrows  passed  him  by  ;  and  right  and  left, 
The  spear-point  pierced  him  not ;  the  scymitar 
Glanced  from  his  helmet :  he,  when  he  beheld 
The  rout  complete,  saw  that  the  shield  of  heaven 
Had  been  extended  over  him  once  more, 
And  bowed  before  its  will.     Upon  the  banks 
Of  Sella  was  Orelio  found,  his  legs 
And  flanks  incarnadined,  his  poitrel  smeared    ' 
With  froth  and  foam  and  gore,  his  silver  mane 
Sprinkled  with  blood,  which  hung  on  every  hair 
Aspersed  like  dew-drops  :  trembling  there  hfe  stood 
From  the  toil  of  battle,  and  at  times  sent  forth 
His  tremulous  cry,  far  echoing  loud  and  shrill, 
A  frequent,  anxious  cry,  with  which  he  seemed 
To  call  the  master  he  had  loved  so  well.' — Southey, 


<Efje  ftamentatton  of  23mt  HoTrertcft. 


The  hosts  of  Don  Rodrigo  were  scattered  in  dismay, 
When  lost  was  the  eighth  battle,  nor  heart  nor  hope  had  they  ; 
He,  when  he  saw  that  field  was  lost,  and  all  his  hope  was  flown, 
He  turned  him  from  his  flying  host,  and  took  his  way  alone. 

His  horse  was  bleeding,  blind,  and  lame, — he  could  no  farther  go  ; 
Dismounted,  without  path  or  aim,  the  king  stepped  to  and  fro ; 
It  was  a  sight  of  pity  to  look  on  Roderick, 
For,  sore  athirst  and  hungry,  he  staggered,  faint  and  sick. 

All  stained  and  strewed  with  dust  and  blood,  like  to  some  smouldering  brand 
Plucked  from  the  flame,  Rodrigo  showed  : — his  sword  was  in  his  hand, 
But  it  was  hacked  into  a  saw  of  dark  and  purple  tint ; 
His  jewelled  mail  had  many  a  flaw,  his  helmet  many  a  dint 

He  climbed  unto  a  hill-top,  the  highest  he  could  see, 
Thence  all  about  of  that  wide  rout  his  last  long  look  took  he  ; 
He  saw  his  royal  banners,  where  they  lay  drenched  and  torn, 
He  heard  the  cry  of  victory,  the  Arab's  shout  of  scorn. 

He  looked  for  the  brave  captains  that  led  the  hosts  of  Spain, 

But  all  were  fled  except  the  dead,  and  who  could  count  the  slain  1 

Where'er  his  eye  could  wander,  all  bloody  was  the  plain, 

And,  while  thus  he  said,  the  tears  he  shed  run  down  his  cheeks  like  rain  : — 

4  Last  night  I  was  the  King  of  Spain, — to-day  no  king  am  I ; 
Last  night  fair  castles  held  my  train, — to-night  where  shall  I  lie  1 
Last  night  a  hundred  pages  did  serve  me  on  the  knee, — 
To-night  not  one  I  call  mine  own  : — not  one  pertains  to  me. 


54 


THE    LAMENTATION    OF   DON    RODERICK. 


'  Oh,  luckless,  luckless  was  the  hour,  and  cursed  was  the  day, 
When  I  was  born  to  have  the  power  of  this  great  signiory  ! 
Unhappy  me,  that  I  should  see  the  sun  go  down  to-night ! 
O  Death,  why  now  so  slow  art  thou,  why  fearest  thou  to  smite  V 


SP&e  penitence  of  Ban  motrericft. 


This  ballad  also  is  quoted  in  Don  Quixote.  'And  let  me  tell  you  again, 
(quoth  Sancho  Panza  to  the  Duchess,)  if  you  don't  think  fit  to  give  me  an 
island  because  I  am  a  fool,  I  will  be  so  wise  as  not  to  care  whether  you  do  or 
no.  It  is  an  old  saying,  The  Devil  lurks  behind  the  cross.  All  is  not  gold 
that  glisters.  From  the  tail  of  the  plough,  Bamba  was  made  King  of  Spain  ; 
and  from  his  silks  and  riches  was  Rodrigo  cast  to  be  devoured  by  the  snakes, 
if  the  old  ballads  say  true,  and  sure  they  are  too  old  to  tell  a  lie.  That  they 
are  indeed,  (said  Dona  Rodriguez,  the  old  waiting  woman,  who  listened  among 
the  rest,)  for  I  remember,  one  of  the  ballads  tells  us  how  Don  Rodrigo  was 
shut  up  alive  in  a  tomb  full  of  toads,  snakes,  and  lizards  ;  and  how,  after  two 
days,  he  was  heard  to  cry  out  of  the  tomb  in  a  loud  and  doleful  voice,  Now 
they  eat  me,  now  they  gnaw  me,  in  the  part  where  I  sinned  most.  And  accord- 
ing to  this  the  gentleman  is  in  the  right  in  saying  he  had  rather  be  a  poor 
laborer  than  a  king,  to  be  gnawed  to  death  by  vermin.' 

Cervantes  would  scarcely  have  made  this  absurd  story  the  subject  of  con- 
versation between  any  more  intelligent  personages  than  Sancho  Panza  and 
the  venerable  Dona  Rodriguez.  Nevertheless,  there  is  something  very  pecu- 
liar in  the  old  ballad  to  which  these  interlocutors  allude, — enough,  perhaps,  to 
make  it  worth  the  trouble  of  translation.  There  is  a  little  difference  between 
the  text  of  the  Cancionero,  and  the  copy  which  Dona  Rodriguez  quotes  ;  but 
I  think  the  effect  is  better  when  there  is  only  one  snake,  than  when  the  tomb 
is  full  of  them. 

Several  chapters  of  the  Ancient  Chronicle  of  Spain,  translated  in  the  Ap- 
pendix to  Mr.  Southey's  Roderick,  relate  to  the  adventures  of  the  King  '  after 
he  left  the  battle  and  arrived  at  a  hermitage.' 


anfje  penitence  of  man  a&otrericn. 


It  was  when  the  King  Rodrigo  had  lost  his  realm  of  Spain* 
In  doleful  plight  he  held  his  flight  o'er  Guadalete's  plain  ; 
Afar  from  the  fierce  Moslem  he  fain  would  hide  his  wo, 
And  up  among  the  wilderness  of  mountains  he  would  go. 

There  lay  a  shepherd  by  the  rill,  with  all  his  flock  beside  him  ; 
He  asked  him  where  upon  his  hill  a  weary  man  might  hide  him. 
'  Not  far,'  quoth  he,  '  within  the  wood,  dwells  our  old  Eremite  ; 
He  in  his  holy  solitude  will  hide  ye  all  the  night.' 

«  Good  friend,'  quoth  he,  '  I  hunger.'     'Alas  !'  the  shepherd  said, 
1  My  scrip  no  more  containeth  but  one  little  loaf  of  bread. 
The  weary  King  was  thankful,  the  poor  man's  loaf  he  took ; 
He  by  him  sate,  and,  while  he  ate,  his  tears  fell  in  the  brook. 

From  underneath  his  garment,  the  King  unlocked  his  chain, 
A  golden  chain  with  many  a  link,  and  the  royal  ring  of  Spain  ; 
He  gave  them  to  the  wondering  man,  and,  with  heavy  steps  and  slow 
He  up  the  wild  his  way  began,  to  the  hermitage  to  go. 

The  sun  had  just  descended  into  the  western  seay 
And  the  holy  man  was  sitting  in  the  breeze  beneath  his  tree  ; 
'  I  come,  I  come,  good  father,  to  beg  a  boon  from  thee  : 
This  night  within  thy  hermitage  give  shelter  unto  me.' 

The  old  man  looked  upon  the  King, — he  scanned  him  o'er  and  o'er, — 
He  looked  with  looks  of  wondering, — he  marvelled  more  and  more. 
With  blood  and  dust  distained  was  the  garment  that  he  wore, 
And  yet  in  utmost  misery  a  kingly  look  he  bore. 


THE   PENITENCE   OF   DON   RODERICK. 

4  Who  art  thou,  weary  stranger  1     This  path  why  hast  thou  ta'en  V — 
•  I  am  Rodrigo  ',— yesterday  men  called  me  King  of  Spain  ; 
I  come  to  make  my  penitence  within  this  lonely  place  ; 
Good  father  take  thou  no  offence,  for  God  and  Mary's  grace.' 

The  hermit  looked  with  fearful  eye  upon  Rodrigo's  face, 

'  Son,  mercy  dwells  with  the  Most  High, — not  hopeless  is  thy  case  ; 

Thus  far  thou  well  hast  chosen  ;  I  to  the  Lord  will  pray  ; 

He  will  reveal  what  penance  may  wash  thy  sin  away.' 

Now,  God  us  shield  !  it  was  revealed  that  he  his  bed  must  make 
Within  a  tomb,  and  share  its  gloom  with  a  black  and  living  snake. 
Rodrigo  bowed  his  humble  head,  when  God's  command  he  heard 
And  with  the  snake  prepared  his  bed,  according  to  the  word. 

The  holy  Hermit  waited  till  the  third  day  was  gone,    • 

Then  knocked  he  with  his  finger  upon  the  cold  tombstone  ; 

1  Good  King,  good  King,'  the  Hermit  said,  '  an  answer  give  to  me, 

How  fares  it  with  thy  darksome  bed  and  dismal  company  V 

1  Good  father,'  said  Rodrigo,  '  the  snake  hath  touched  me  not ; 
Pray  for  me,  holy  Hermit, — I  need  thy  prayers,  God  wot ; 
Because  the  Lord  his  anger  keeps,  I  lie  unharmed  here  ; 
The  sting  of  earthly  vengeance  sleeps, — a  worser  pain  I  fear.' 

The  Eremite  his  breast  did  smite  when  thus  he  heard  him  say  ; 
He  turned  him  to  his  cell, — that  night  he  loud  and  long  did  pray  '. 
At  morning  hour  he  came  again, — then  doleful  moans  heard  he  ; 
From  out  the  tomb  the  cry  did  come  of  gnawing  misery. 

He  spake,  and  heard  Rodrigo's  voice  ;  «  O  Father  Eremite, 
He  eats  me  now,  he  eats  me  now,  I  feel  the  adder's  bite  ; 
The  part  that  was  most  sinning  my  bedfellow  doth  rend  ; 
There  had  my  curse  beginning,  God  grant  it  there  may  end  V 

The  holy  man  made  answer  in  words  of  hopeful  strain  ; 
He  bade  him  trust  the  body's  pang  would  save  the  spirit's  pain. 
Thus  died  the  good  Rodrigo,  thus  died  the  King  of  Spain, 
Washed  from  offence,  his  spirit  hence  to  God  its  flight  hath  ta'en. 


Elje  #lanlj  of  JSmtarfco  tol  (Earpfo. 


Of  Bernardo  del  Carpio,  we  find  little  or  nothing  in  the  French  romances  \ 
of  Charlemagne.  He  belongs  exclusively  to  Spanish  History,  or  rather,  per- 
haps, to  Spanish  romance.  The  continence  which  procured  for  Alphonso 
(who  succeeded  to  the  precarious  throne  of  the  Christians  in  the  Austrias 
about  795)  the  epithet  of  « The  Chaste,'  was  not  universal  in  his  family.  By 
an  intrigue  with  Sancho  Diaz,  Count  of  Saldana,  or  Saldena,  Dona  Ximena, 
sister  of  this  virtuous  Prince,  bore  a  son.  Some  chroniclers  attempt  to  gloss 
over  this  incident,  by  alleging  that  a  private  marriage  had  taken  place  between 
the  lovers :  but  King  Alphonso,  who  was  well  nigh  sainted  for  living  only  in  pla- 
tonic  union  with  his  wife  Bertha,  took  the  scandal  greatly  to  heart.  He  shut 
up  the  peccant  Princess  in  a  cloister,  and  imprisoned  her  gallant  in  the  castle 
of  Luna,  where  he  caused  him  to  be  deprived  of  sight.  Fortunately,  his 
wrath  did  not  extend  to  the  offspring  of  their  stolen  affections,  Bernardo  del 
Carpio.  When  the  youth  had  grown  up  to  manhood,  Alphonso,  according  to 
the  Spanish  chroniclers,  invited  the  Emperor  Charlemagne  into  Spain,  and 
having  neglected  to  raise  up  heirs  for  the  kingdom  of  the  Goths  in  the  ordi- 
nary manner,  he  proposed  the  inheritance  of  his  throne  as  the  price  of  the 
alliance  of  Charles.  But  the  nobility,  headed  by  Bernardo,  remonstrated 
against  the  King's  choice  of  a  successor,  and  would  on  no  account  consent  to 
receive  a  Frenchman  as  the  heir  of  their  crown.  Alphonso  himself  repented 
of  the  invitation  he  had  given  Charlemagne,  and  when  that  champion  of 
Christendom  came  to  expel  the  Moors  from  Spain,  he  found  the  conscientious 
and  chasts  Alphonso  had  united  with  the  infidels  against  him.  An  engage- 
ment took  place  in  the  renowned  pass  of  Roncesvalles,  in  which  the  French 
were  defeated,  and  the  celebrated  Roland,  or  Orlando,  was  slain.  The  victory 
was  ascribed  chiefly  to  the  prowess  of  Bernardo  del  Carpio. 

The  following  ballad  describes  the  enthusiasm  excited  among  the  Leonese, 
when  Bernardo  first  raised  his  standard  to  oppose  the  progress  of  Charle- 
magne's army. 


&fje  J&arcij  of  JSeruatfro  trel  <£arpto. 


With  three  thousand  men  of  Leon,  from  the  city  Bernard  goes, 
To  protect  the  soil  Hispanian  from  the  spear  of  Frankish  foes  : 
From  the  city  which  is  planted  in  the  midst  between  the  seas, 
To  preserve  the  name  and  glory  of  old  Pelayo's  victories. 

The  peasant  hears  upon  his  field  the  trumpet  of  the  knight, — 
He  quits  his  team  for  spear  and  shield  and  garniture  of  might ; 
The  shepherd  hears  it  'mid  the  mist, — he  flingeth  down  his  crook, 
And  rushes  from  the  mountain  like  a  tempest-troubled  brook. 

The  youth  who  shows  a  maiden's  chin,  whose  brows  have  ne'er  been  bound 

The  helmet's  heavy  ring  within,  gains  manhood  from  the  sound  ; 

The  hoary  sire  beside  the  fire  forgets  his  feebleness, 

Once  more  to  feel  the  cap  of  steel  a  warrior's  ringlets  press. 

As  through  the  glen  his  spears  did  gleam,  these  soldiers  from  the  hills, 
They  swelled  his  host,  as  mountain-stream  receives  the  roaring  rills  ; 
They  round  his  banner  flocked,  in  scorn  of  haughty  Charlemagne, 
And  thus  upon  their  swords  are  sworn  the  faithful  sons  of  Spain. 

4  Free  were  we  born,'  'tis  thus  they  cry,  '  though  to  our  King  we  owe 
The  homage  and  the  fealty  behind  his  crest  to  go  ; 
By  God's  behest  our  aid  he  shares,  but  God  did  ne'er  command 
That  we  should  leave  our  children  heirs  of  an  enslaved  land. 

'  Our  breasts  are  not  so  timorous,  nor  are  our  arms  so  weak, 

Nor  are  our  veins  so  bloodless,  that  we  our  vow  should  break, 

To  sell  our  freedom  for  the  fear  of  Prince  or  Paladin ; 

At  least  we'll  sell  our  birthright  dear, — no  bloodless  prize  they'll  win. 


60  THE   MARCH   OF   BERNARDO    DEL    CARPIO. 

1  At  least  King  Charles,  if  God  decrees  he  must  be  Lord  of  Spain, 
Shall  witness  that  the  Leonese  were  not  aroused  in  vain  ; 
He  shall  bear  witness  that  we  died  as  lived  our  sires  of  old, — 
Nor  only  of  Numantium's  pride  shall  minstrel  tales  be  told. 

'  The  Lion  that  hath  bathed  his  paws  in  seas  of  Lybian  gore, 
Shall  he  not  battle  for  the  laws  and  liberties  of  yore  } 
Anointed  cravens  may  give  gold  to  whom  it  likes  them  well, 
But  steadfast  heart  and  spirit  bold,  Alphonso  ne'er  shall  sell.' 


£f)e  ©ompiatnt  of  tfje  (£ottnt  of  SalTrana. 


This  ballad  is  intended  to  represent  the  feelings  of  Don  Sancho,  Count  of  Saldana, 
while  imprisoned  by  King  Alphonso,  and,  as  he  supposed,  neglected  and  forgotten,  both 
by  his  wife,  or  rather  mistress,  Dona  Ximena,  and  by  his  son,  Bernardo  del  Carpio. 


i    The  Count  Don  Sancho  Diaz,  the  Signior  of  Saldane, 
:    Lies  weeping  in  his  prison,  for  he  cannot  refrain  : 

King  Alphonso  and  his  sister,  of  both  doth  he  complain, 

But  most  of  bold  Bernardo,  the  champion  of  Spain. 

'  The  weary  years  I  durance  brook,  how  many  they  have  been, 
When  on  these  hoary  hairs  I  look,  may  easily  be  seen  ; 
j    When  they  brought  me  to  this  castle,  my  curls  were  black  I  ween, 
Wo  worth  the  day  !  they  have  grown  grey  these  rueful  walls  between. 

'  They  tell  me  my  Bernardo  is  the  doughtiest  lance  in  Spain, 

But  if  he  were  my  loyal  heir,  there  's  blood  in  every  vein 

Whereof  the  voice  his  heart  would  hear, — his  hand  would  not  gainsay ; 

Though  the  blood  of  kings  be  mixed  with  mine,  it  would  not  have  all  the  sway. 

! 
'  Now  all  the  tliree  have  scorn  of  me  ;  unhappy  man  am  I ! 

They  leave  me  without  pity  ;  they  leave  me  here  to  die. 

A  stranger's  feud,  albeit  rude,  were  little  dole  or  care, 

But  he  ?s  my  own,  both  flesh  and  bone  ;  his  scorn  is  ill  to  bear. 

'  From  Jailer  and  from  Castellain  I  hear  of  hardiment 
And  chivalry  in  listed  plain  on  joust  and  tourney  spent ; 
I  hear  of  many  a  battle,  in  which  thy  spear  is  red, 
But  help  from  thee  comes  none  to  me  where  I  am  ill  bestead. 


62 


THE   COMPLAINT   OF   THE   COUNT   OF   SALDANA. 


'  Some  villain  spot  is  in  thy  blood  to  mar  its  gentle  strain, 
Else  would  it  show  forth  hardihood  for  him  from  whom 't  was  ta'en  ; 
Thy  hope  is  young,  thy  heart  is  strong,  but  yet  a  day  may  be 
When  thou  shalt  weep  in  dungeon  deep,  and  none  thy  weeping  see.' 


'*  « 


STfie  iFnneral  of  tije  (tount  of  .Salirana* 


According  to  the  Chronicle,  Bernardo,  being  at  last  wearied  out  of  all 
patience  by  the  cruelty  of  which  his  father  was  the  victim,  determined  to 
quit  the  court  of  his  King  and  seek  an  alliance  among  the  Moors.  Having 
fortified  himself  in  the  Castle  of  Carpio,  he  made  continual  incursions  into 
the  territory  of  Leon,  pillaging  and  plundering  wherever  he  came.  The 
King  at  length  besieged  him  in  his  stronghold ;  but  the  defence  was  so 
gallant,  that  there  appeared  no  prospect  of  success  ;  whereupon  many  of  the 
gentlemen  in  Alphonso's  camp  entreated  the  King  to  offer  Bernardo  imme- 
diate possession  of  his  father's  person,  if  he  would  surrender  his  castle. 

Bernardo  at  once  consented  ;  but  the  King  gave  orders  to  have  Count 
Sancho  Diaz  taken  off  instantly  in  his  prison.  ■  When  he  was  dead,  they 
clothed  him  in  splendid  attire,  mounted  him  on  horseback,  and  so  led  him 
towards  Salamanca,  where  his  son  was  expecting  his  arrival.  As  they  drew 
nigh  the  city,  the  King  and  Bernardo  rode  out  to  meet  them  ;  and  when 
Bernardo  saw  his  father  approaching,  he  exclaimed, — O  God  !-  is  the  Count 
of  Saldana  indeed  coming  1 — Look  where  he  is,  replied  the  cruel  King ;  and 
now  go  and  greet  him  whom  you  so  long  desired  to  see.  Bernardo  went 
forward  and  took  his  father's  hand  to  kiss  it ;  but  when  he  felt  the  dead 
weight  of  the  hand,  and  saw  the  livid  face  of  the  corpse,  he  cried  aloud,  and 
said, — Ah,  Don  San  Diaz,  in  an  evil  hour  didst  thou  beget  me  ! — Thou  art 
dead,  and  I  have  given  my  stronghold  for  thee,  and  now  I  have  lost  all. 


STfje  iFuuetal  of  tfje  (£ount  of  Salirana. 


All  in  the  centre  of  the  choir  Bernardo's  knees  are  bent,^ 
Before  him,  for  his  murdered  sire,  yawns  the  old  monument. 

His  kinsmen  of  the  Carpio  blood  are  kneeling  at  his  back, 

With  knightly  friends  and  vassals  good,  all  garbed  in  weeds  of  black. 

He  comes  to  make  the  obsequies  of  a  basely-slaughtered  man, 

And  tears  are  running  down  from  eyes  whence  ne'er  before  they  ran. 

His  head  is  bowed  upon  the  stone  ;  his  heart,  albeit  full  6ore, 

Is  strong  as  when  in  days  by-gone  he  rode  o'er  Frank  and  Moor  ; 

And  now  between  his  teeth  he  mutters,  that  none  his  words  can  hear ; 
i    And  now  the  voice  of  wrath  he  utters,  in  curses  loud  and  clear  : 

He  stoops  him  o'er  his  father's  shroud,  his  lips  salute  the  bier ; 
He  communes  with  the  corse  aloud,  as  if  none  else  were  near. 

His  right  hand  doth  his  sword  unsheath,  his  left  doth  pluck  his  beard  ; 
And  while  his  liegemen  held  their  breath,  these  were  the  words  they  heard 

•  Go  up,  go  up,  thou  blessed  ghost,  into  the  hands  of  God  ; 

Go,  fear  not  lest  revenge  be  lost,  when  Carpio's  blood  hath  flowed  ; 

'  The  steel  that  drank  the  blood  of  France,  the  arm  thy  foe  that  shielded, 
Still,  father,  thirsts  that  burning  lance,  and  still  thy  son  can  wield  it.' 


I 


JSmtarUo  auti  .SUpfjonso. 


The  incident  recorded  in  this  ballad  may  be  supposed  to  have  occurred  immediately 
after  the  funeral  of  the  Count  of  Saldana.  As  to  what  was  the  end  of  the  knight's  his- 
tory, we  are  almost  left  entirely  in  the  dark,  both  by  the  Chronicle  and  by  the  Romancero. 
It  appears  to  be  intimated  that,  after  his  father's  death,  he  once  more  '  took  service' 
among  the  Moors,  who  are  represented  in  several  of  the  ballads  as  accustomed  to  ex- 
change offices  of  courtesy  with  Bernardo. 


With  some  good  ten  of  his  chosen  men,  Bernardo  hath  appeared 
Before  them  all  in  the  palace  hall,  the  lying  King  to  beard  ; 
With  cap  in  hand  and  eye  on  ground,  he  came  in  reverend  guise, 
But  ever  and  anon  he  frowned,  and  flame  broke  from  his  eyes. 

•  A  curse  upon  thee,'  cries  the  King,  *  who  comest  unbid  to  me  ; 
But  what  from  traitor's  blood  should  spring,  save  traitors  like  to  thee  1 
His  sire,  lords,  had  a  traitor's  heart ;  perchance  our  champion  brave 
May  think  it  were  a  pious  part  to  share  Don  Sancho's  grave.' 

4  Whoever  told  this  tale  the  King  hath  rashness  to  repeat,' 
Cries  Bernard,  '  here  my  gage  I  fling  before  the  liar's  feet ! 
No  treason  was  in  Sancho's  blood,  no  stain  in  mine  doth  lie  : 
Below  the  throne  what  knight  will  own  the  coward  calumny  1 


The  blood  that  I  like  water  shed,  when  Roland  did  advance, 
By  secret  traitors  hired  and  led,  to  make  us  slaves  of  France  ; 
The  life  of  King  Alphonso  I  saved  at  Roncesval, — 
Your  words*  Lord  King,  are  recompense  abundant  for  it  all. 


BEKNARDO   AND   ALPHONSO. 

'  Your  horse  was  down, — your  hope  was  flown, — I  saw  the  falchion  shine, 

That  soon  had  drunk  your  royal  blood,  had  I  not  ventured  mine  ; 

But  memory  soon  of  service  done  deserteth  the  ingrate  ; 

You  've  thanked  the  son  for  life  and  crown  by  the  father's  bloody  fate. 

*  Ye  swore  upon  your  kingly  faith,  to  set  Don  Sancho  free  ; 

But,  curse  upon  your  paltering  breath,  the  light  he  ne'er  did  see  ; 
He  died  in  dungeon  cold  and  dim,  by  Alphonso's  base  decree, 
And  visage  blind,  and  stiffened  limb,  were  all  they  gave  to  me. 

'  The  King  that  swerveth  from  his  word  hath  stained  his  purple  black ; 
No  Spanish  lord  will  draw  the  sword  behind  a  liar's  back  ; 
But  noble  vengeance  shall  be  mine,  an  open  hate  I  '11  show, — 
The  King  hath  injured  Carpio's  line,  and  Bernard  is  his  foe.' 

*  Seize,  seize  him  !'  loud  the  King  doth  scream  :  'There  are  a  thousand  here 
Let  his  foul  blood  this  instant  stream  : — What !  caitiffs,  do  ye  fear  ! 
Seize,  seize  the  traitor !' — But  not  one  to  move  a  finger  dareth  ; 
Bernardo  standeth  by  the  throne,  and  calm  his  sword  he  bareth. 

He  drew  the  falchion  from  the  sheath,  and  held  it  up  on  high, 
And  all  the  hall  was  still  as  death  : — cries  Bernard,  '  Here  am  I, — ■ 
And  here  is  the  sword  that  owns  no  lord,  excepting  heaven  and  me  ; 
Fain  would  I  know  who  dares  his  point, — King,  Conde,  or  Grandee.' 

Then  to  his  mouth  the  horn  he  drew,  (it  hung  below  his  cloak  ;) 
His  ten  true  men  the  signal  knew,  and  through  the  ring  they  broke  ; 
With  helm  on  head,  and  blade  in  hand,  the  knights  the  circle  brake, 
And  back  the  lordlings  'gan  to  stand,  and  the  false  King  to  quake. 

*  Ha !  Bernard,'  quoth  Alphonso,  '  what  means  this  warlike  guise  ? 
Ye  know  full  well  I  jested, — ye  know  your  worth  I  prize.' 

But  Bernard  turned  upon  his  heel,  and  smiling  passed  away  : — 
Long  rued  Alphonso  and  his  realm  the  jesting  of  that  day. 


&f)e  SEaftren  STrtfmte. 


The  reign  of  King  Ramiro  was  short,  but  glorious.  He  had  not  been 
many  months  seated  on  the  throne,  when  Abderahman,  the  second  of  that 
name,  sent  a  formal  embassy  to  demand  payment  of  an  odious  and  ignomini- 
ous tribute,  which  had  been  agreed  to  in  the  days  of  former  and  weaker 
princes,  but  which,  it  should  seem,  had  not  been  exacted  by  the  Moors  while 
such  men  as  Bernardo  del  Carpio  and  Alphonso  the  Great  headed  the  forces 
of  the  Christians.  This  tribute  was  a  hundred  virgins  per  annum.  King 
Ramiro  refused  compliance,  and  marched  to  meet  the  army  of  Abderahman. 
The  battle  was  fought  near  Albayda,  (or  Alveida,)  and  lasted  for  two  entire 
days.  On  the  first  day,  the  superior  discipline  of  the  Saracen  chivalry  had 
nearly  accomplished  a  complete  victory,  when  the  approach  of  night  separated 
the  combatants.  During  the  night,  Saint  Iago  stood  in  a  vision  before  the 
King,  and  promised  to  be  with  him  next  morning  in  the  field.  Accordingly, 
the  warlike  apostle  made  his  appearance,  mounted  on  a  milk-white  charger, 
and  armed  cap-a-pee  in  radiant  mail,  like  a  true  knight  The  Moors  sus- 
tained a  signal  defeat,  and  the  Maiden  Tribute  was  never  afterwards  paid, 
although  often  enough  demanded.  Such  is,  in  substance,  the  story,  as  nar- 
rated by  Mariana,  (see  Book  vii.  chap.  13,)  who  fixes  the  date  of  the  battle  of 
Alveida  in  the  year  844,  being  the  second  year  after  the  accession  of  King 
Ramiro. 

Mr.  Southey  says  that  there  is  no  mention  of  this  battle  of  Alveida  in  the 
three  authors  who  lived  nearest  the  time  ;  but  adds,  that  the  story  of  Santi- 
ago's making  his  first  appearance  in  a  field  of  battle  on  the  Christian  side  is 
related  at  length  by  King  Ramiro  himself,  in  a  charter  granting  a  perpetual 
tribute  of  wine,  corn,  &c,  to  the  Church  of  Compostella.  Mr.  Southey  says 
that  the  only  old  ballad  he  has  Been  in  the  Portuguese  language  is  founded 
upon  a  story  of  a  Maiden  Tribute.    See  the  Notes  to  his  "  Cid,"  p.  377. 


arije  JttaOmi  Kviliutz. 


The  noble  King  Ramiro  within  the  chamber  sate, 
One  day,  with  all  his  barons,  in  council  and  debate, 
When,  without  leave  or  guidance  of  usher  or  of  groom, 
There  came  a  comely  maiden  into  the  council-room. 

She  was  a  comely  maiden, — she  was  surpassing  fair  ; 
All  loose  upon  her  shoulders  hung  down  her  golden  hair  ; 
From  head  to  foot  her  garments  were  white  as  white  may  be  ; 
And  while  they  gazed  in  silence,  thus  in  the  midst  spake  she, 

'  Sir  King,  I  crave  your  pardon,  if  I  have  done  amiss 
In  venturing  before  ye,  at  such  an  hour  as  this  ; 
But  I  will  tell  my  story,  and  when  my  words  ye  hear, 
I  look  for  praise  and  honor,  and  no  rebuke  I  fear. 

'  I  know  not  if  I  'm  bounden  to  call  thee  by  the  name 
Of  Christain,  King  Ramiro  ;  for  though  thou  dost  not  claim 
P    A  heathen  realm's  allegiance,  a  heathen  sure  thou  art ; 
Beneath  a  Spaniard's  mantle  thou  hidest  a  Moorish  heart. 

»  For  he  who  gives  the  Moor-King  a  hundred  maids  of  Spain, 
Each  year  when  in  its  season  the  day  comes  round  again, — 
If  he  be  not  a  heathen,  he  swells  the  heathen's  train  ; 
'Twere  better  burn  a  kingdom  than  suffer  such  disdain. 

*  If  the  Moslem  must  have  tribute,  make  men  your  tribute-money, 
Send  idle  drones  to  teaze  them  within  their  hives  of  honey  ; 
For  when  'tis  paid  with  maidens,  from  every  maid  there  spring 
Some  five  or  six  strong  soldiers  to  serve  the  Moorish  King. 


THE   MAIDEN   TRIBUTE.  69 

4  It  is  but  little  wisdom  to  keep  our  men  at  home, 
They  serve  but  to  get  damsels,  who,  when  their  day  is  come, 
Must  go,  like  all  the  others,  the  heathen's  bed  to  sleep  in  ; 
In  all  the  rest  they're  useless,  and  no  wise  worth  the  keeping. 

'  And  if  it  is  fear  of  battle  that  makes  ye  bow  so  low, 
And  suffer  such  dishonor  from  God  our  Saviour's  foe, 
I  pray  you,  sirs,  take  warning, — ye  '11  ha*ve  as  good  a  fright, 
If  e'er  the  Spanish  damsels  arise  themselves  to  right 

'  'Tis  we  have  manly  courage  within  the  breasts  of  women, 
But  ye  are  all  hare-hearted,  both  gentlemen  and  yeomen.' — 
Thus  spake  that  fearless  maiden  ;  I  wot  when  she  was  done, 
Uprose  the  King  Ramiro  and  his  nobles  every  one. 

The  King  called  God  to  witness,  that  come  their  weal  or  wo, 
Thenceforth  no  Maiden  Tribute  from  out  Castile  should  go ; 
'  At  least  I  will  do  battle  on  God  our  Saviour's  foe, 
And  die  beneath  my  banner  before  I  see  it  so.' 

A  cry  went  through  the  mountains  when  the  proud  Moor  drew  near, 
And  trooping  to  Ramiro  came  every  Christian  spear  ; 
The  blessed  Saint  Iago,  they  called  upon  his  name  ;•— 
That  day  began  our  freedom,  and  wiped  away  our  shame. 


K$t  fEscape  of  Gottnt  iFernan  <Kon?alrf. 


The  story  of  Fernan  Gonzalez  is  detailed  in  the  Coronica  Antigua  de 
Espana  with  so  many  romantic  circumstances,  that  certain  modern  critics 
have  been  inclined  to  consider  it  as  entirely  fabulous.  Of  the  main  facts 
recorded,  there  seems,  however,  to  be  no  good  reason  to  doubt ;  and  h.  is 
quite  certain  that,  from  the  earliest  times,  the  name  of  Fernan  Gonzalez  has 
been  held  in  the  highest  honor  by  the  Spaniards  themselves,  of  every  degree. 
He  lived  at  the  beginning  of  the  tenth  century.  It  was  under  his  rule, 
according  to  the  chronicles,  that  Castile  first  became  an  independent  Chris- 
tian state,  and  it  was  by  his  exertions  that  the  first  foundations  were  laid  of 
that  system  of  warfare,  by  which  the  Moorish  power  in  Spain  was  at  last 
overthrown. 

He  was  so  fortunate  as  to  have  a  wife  as  heroic  as  himself,  and  both  in  the 
chronicles,  and  in  the  ballads,  abundant  justice  is  done  to  her  merits. 

She  twice  rescued  Fernan  Gonzalez  from  confinement,  at  the  risk  of  her 
own  life.  He  had  asked,  or  designed  to  ask,  her  hand  in  marriage  of  her 
father,  Garcias,  King  of  Navarre,  and  was  on  his  way  to  that  prince's  court, 
when  he  was  seized  and  cast  into  a  dungeon,  in  consequence  of  the  machina- 
tions of  his  enemy,  the  Queen  of  Leon,  sister  to  the  King  of  Navarre. 
Sancha,  the  young  princess,  to  whose  alliance  he  had  aspired,  being  informed 
of  the  cause  of  his  journey,  and  of  the  sufferings  to  which  it  had  exposed 
him,  determined,  at  all  hazards,  to  effect  his  liberation  ;  and  having  done  so, 
by  bribing  his  jailer,  she  accompanied  his  flight  to  Castile. 

Many  years  after,  he  fell  into  an  ambush  prepared  for  him  by  the  same 
implacable  enemy,  and  was  again  a  fast  prisoner  in  Leon.  His  countess, 
feigning  a  pilgrimage  to  Compostella,  obtained  leave,  in  the  first  place,  to 
pass  through  the  hostile  territory,  and  afterwards,  in  the  course  of  her  pro- 
gress, to  spend  one  night  in  the  castle  where  her  husband  was  confined.  She 
exchanged  clothes  with  him  ;  and  he  was  so  fortunate  as  to  pass  in  his  dis- 


THE   ESCAPE   OF   COUNT   FERNAN   GONZALEZ. 


71 


guise  through  the  guards  who  attended  on  him — his  courageous  wife  remain- 
ing in  his  place — exactly  in  the  same  manner  in  which  the  Countess  of 
Nithsdale  effected  the  escape  of  her  lord  from  the  Tower  of  London,  on  the 
23d  of  February,  1715. 

There  is,  as  might  be  supposed,  a  whole  body  of  old  ballads,  concerning 
the  adventures  of  Fernan  Gonzalez.  I  shall,  as  a  specimen,  translate  one  of 
the  shortest  of  these, — that  in  which  the  first  of  his  romantic  escapes  is 
described. 


STfje  25Bcaije  of  (ftount  iFernau  Gfonfale*. 


They  have  carried  afar  into  Navarre  the  great  Count  of  Castile, 
And  they  have  bound  him  sorely,  they  have  bound  him  hand  and  heel  5 
The  tidings  up  the  mountains  go,  and  down  among  the  valleys, 
1  To  the  rescue  !  to  the  rescue,  ho  ! — they  have  ta'en  Fernan  Gonzalez  !' 

A  pilgrim  knight  of  Normandy  was  riding  through  Navarre, 
For  Christ  his  hope  he  came  to  cope  with  the  Moorish  scymitar  ; 
To  the  Alcayde  of  the  Tower,  in  secret  thus  said  he, 
*  These  bezaunts  fair  with  thee  I  '11  share,  so  I  this  lord  may  see.' 

The  Alcayde  was  full  joyful, — he  took  the  gold  full  soon  ; 
He  brought  him  to  the  dungeon,  ere  the  rising  of  the  moon ; 
He  let  him  out  at  morning,  at  the  gray  light  of  the  prime  ; 
But  many  words  between  these  lords  had  passed  within  that  time. 

The  Norman  knight  rides  swiftly,  for  he  hath  made  him  bowne 
To  a  King  that  is  full  joyous,  and  to  a  feastful  town  ; 
For  there  is  joy  and  feasting,  because  that  lord  is  ta'en, — 
King  Garci  in  his  dungeon  holds  the  doughtiest  lord  in  Spain. 

The  Norman  feasts  among  the  guests,  but,  at  the  evening  tide, 
He  speaks  to  Garci's  daughter,  within  her  bower,  aside  ; 
'  Now  God  forgive  us,  lady,  and  God  his  mother  dear, 
For  on  a  day  of  sorrow  we  have  been  blithe  of  cheer. 

1  The  Moors  may  well  be  joyful,  but  great  should  be  our  grief, 
For  Spain  has  lost  her  guardian,  when  Castile  has  lost  her  chief ; 
The  Moorish  host  is  pouring  like  a  river  o'er  the  land, — 
Curse  on  the  Christian  fetters  that  bind  Gonzalez'  hand ! 


THE   ESCAPE   OF   COUNT   FERNAN   GONZALEZ.  73 

4  Gonzalez  loves  thee,  lady, — -he  loved  thee  long  ago, 

But  little  is  the  kindness  that  for  his  love  yon  show  ; 

The  curse  that  lies  on  Cava's*  head,  it  may  be  shared  by  thee  ;— • 

Arise,  let  love  with  love  be  paid,  and  set  Gonzalez  free.' — 

The  lady  answered  little,  but  at  the  mirk  of  night, 

When  all  her  maids  are  sleeping,  she  hath  risen  and  ta'en  her  flight ; 

She  hath  tempted  the  Alcayde  with  her  jewels  and  her  gold, 

And  unto  her  his  prisoner  that  Jailer  false  hath  sold. 

She  took  Gonzalez  by  the  hand,  at  the  dawning  of  the  day, 

She  said,  '  Upon  the  heath  you  stand, — before  you  lies  your  way  ; 

But  if  I  to  my  father  go,  alas  !  what  must  I  do  1 

My  father  will  be  angry, — I  fain  would  go  with  you.' — 

He  hath  kissed  the  Infanta, — he  hath  kissed  her  brow  and  cheek, 
And  lovingly  together  the  forest-path  they  seek  ; 
Till  in  the  greenwood  hunting  they  met  a  lordly  priest, 
With  his  bugle  at  his  girdle,  and  his  hawk  upon  his  wrist. 

•  Now  stop  !  now  stop  !'  the  priest  he  said,  (he  knew  them  both  right  well,) 

•  Now  stop,  and  pay  your  ransom,  or  I  your  flight  will  tell ; 
Now  stop,  thou  fair  Infanta,  for,  if  my  words  you  scorn, 

I  '11  give  warning  to  the  foresters  with  the  blowing  of  my  horn.' — 

****** 
The  base  priest's  word  Gonzalez  heard  ;  '  Now,  by  the  rood  !'  quoth  he, 
4  A  hundred  deaths  I  '11  suffer,  or  ere  this  thing  shall  be.' — 
But  in  his  ear  she  whispered,  she  whispered  soft  and  slow, 
And  to  the  priest  she  beckoned  within  the  wood  to  go. 

It  was  ill  with  Count  Gonzalez,  the  fetters  pressed  his  knees  ; 
Yet  as  he  could  he  followed  within  the  shady  trees  ; — 
4  For  help,  for  help,  Gonzalez  !-~for  help,'  he  hears  her  cry, 
4  God  aiding,  fast  I  '11  hold  thee,  until  my  lord  come  nigh.' 

*  Caba,  or  Cava,  the  unfortunate  daughter  of  Count  Julian.     No  child  in  Spain  was 
ever  christened  by  that  ominous  name  after  the  downfall  of  the  Gothic  kingdom. 


74  THE   ESCAPE   OF   COUNT   FERNAN   GONZALEZ. 

He  has  come  within  the  thicket, — there  lay  they  on  the  green, — 
And  he  has  plucked  from  off  the  grass  the  false  priest's  javelin  ; 
Firm  by  the  throat  she  held  him  bound, — down  went  the  weapon  sheer,- 
Down  through  his  body  to  the  ground,  even  as  the  boar  ye  spear. 

They  wrapped  him  in  his  mantle,  and  left  him  there  to  bleed, 
And  all  that  day  they  held  their  way, — his  palfrey  served  their  need  ; 
Till  to  their  ears  a  sound  did  come,  might  fill  their  hearts  with  dread, 
A  steady  whisper  on  the  breeze,  and  horsemen's  heavy  tread. 

The  Infanta  trembled  in  the  wood,  but  forth  the  Count  did  go, 
And,  gazing  wide,  a  troop  descried  upon  the  bridge  below  ; 
4  Gramercy  !'  quoth  Gonzalez,  'or  else  my  sight  is  gone, 
Methinks  I  know  the  pennon  yon  sun  is  shining  on. 

'  Come  forth,  come  forth,  Infanta,  mine  own  true  men  they  be, — 
Come  forth,  and  see  my  banner,  and  cry  Castile !  with  me  ; 
My  merry  men  draw  near  me,  I  see  my  pennon  shine, 
Their  swords  shine  bright,  Infanta, — and  every  blade  is  thine.' 


2H)*  Seijcn  ffyttititi. 


'It  was,' says  Mariana,  'in  the  year  986,  that  the  seven  most  noble  brothers, 
commonly  called  the  Infants  of  Lara,  were  slain  by  the  treachery  of  Ruy 
Velasquez,  who  was  their  uncle,  for  they  were  the  sons  of  his  sister,  Dona 
Sancha.  By  the  father's  side,  they  were  sprung  from  the  Counts  of  Castile, 
through  the  Count  Don  Diego  Porcellos,  from  whose  daughter,  and  Nuno 
Pelchides,  there  came  two  sons,  namely,  Nuno  Rasura,  great-grandfather  of 
the  Count  Garci  Fernandez,  and  Gustio  Gonzalez.  The  last-named  gentle- 
man was  father  of  Gonzalo  Gustio,  Lord  of  Salas  of  Lara  ;  and  his  sons  were 
those  seven  brothers  famous  in  the  history  of  Spain,  not  more  by  reason  of 
their  deeds  of  prowess,  than  of  the  disastrous  death  which  was  their  fortune. 
They  were  all  knighted  in  the  same  day  by  the  Count  Don  Garcia,  according 
to  the  fashion  which  prevailed  in  those  days,  and  more  especially  in  Spain. 

1  Now  it  happened  that  Ruy  Velasquez,  Lord  of  Villaren,  celebrated  his 
nuptials  in  Burgos  with  Dona  Lambra,  a  lady  of  very  high  birth,  from  the 
country  of  Briviesca,  and,  indeed,  a  cousin-german  to  the  Count  Garci  Fer- 
nandez himself.  The  feast  was  splendid,  and  great  was  the  concourse  of 
principal  gentry  ;  and  among  others  were  present  the  Count  Garci  Fernan- 
dez, and  those  seven  brothers,  with  Gonzalo  Gustio,  their  father. 

'  From  some  trivial  occasion,  there  arose  a  quarrel  between  Gonzalez,  the 
youngest  of  the  seven  brothers,  on  the  one  hand,  and  a  relation  of  Dona 
Lambra,  by  name  Alvar  Sanchez,  on  the  other,  without,  however,  any  very 
serious  consequences  at  the  time.  But  Dona  Lambra  conceived  herself  to 
have  been  insulted  by  the  quarrel,  and,  in  order  to  revenge  herself,  when  the 
seven  brothers  were  come  as  far  as  Barvadiello,  riding  in  her  train  the  more 
to  do  her  honor,  she  ordered  one  of  her  slaves  to  throw  at  Gonzalez  a  wild 
cucumber  soaked  in  blood,  a  heavy  insult  and  outrage,  according  to  the  then 
existing  customs  and  opinions  of  Spain.  The  slave,  having  done  as  he  was 
bid,  fled  for  protection  to  his  lady,  Dona  Lambra ;  but  that  availed  him 
nothing,  for  they  slew  him  within  the  very  folds  of  her  garment. 


76  THE   SEVEN   HEADS. 

'  Ruy  Velasquez,  who  did  not  witness  these  things  with  his  own  eyes,  no 
sooner  returned,  than,  filled  with  wrath  on  account  of  this  slaughter,  and  of 
the  insult  to  his  bride,  he  began  to  devise  how  he  might  avenge  himself  of 
the  seven  brothers. 

♦With  semblances  of  peace  and  friendship,  he  concealed  his  mortal  hatred  ; 
and,  after  a  time,  Gonzalo  Gustio,  the  father,  was  sent  by  him,  suspecting 
nothing,  to  Cordova.  The  pretence  was  to  bring  certain  moneys  which  had 
been  promised  to  Ruy  Velasquez  by  the  barbarian  King,  but  the  true  purpose, 
that  he  might  be  put  to  death  at  a  distance  from  his  own  country  ;  for  Ruy 
Velasquez  asked  the  Moor  to  do  this,  in  letters  written  in  the  Arabic  tongue, 
of  which  Gonzalo  was  made  the  bearer.  The  Moor,  however,  whether 
moved  to  have  compassion  on  the  gray  hairs  of  so  principal  a  gentleman,  or 
desirous  of  at  least  making  a  show  of  humanity,  did  not  slay  Gonzalo,  but 
contented  himself  with  imprisoning  him.  Nor  was  his  durance  of  the  strictest, 
for  a  certain  sister  of  the  Moorish  King  found  ingress,  and  held  communica- 
tion with  him  there  ;  and  from  that  conversation,  it  is  said,  sprung  Mudara 
Gonzalez,  author  and  founder  of  that  most  noble  Spanish  lineage  of  the 
Manriques. 

'  But  the  fierce  spirit  of  Ruy  Velasquez  was  not  satisfied  with  the  tribula- 
tions of  Gonzalo  Gustio ;  he  carried  his  rage  still  farther.  Pretending  to 
make  an  incursion  into  the  Moorish  country,  he  led  into  an  ambuscade  the 
seven  brothers,  who  had,  as  yet,  conceived  no  thought  of  his  treacherous  in- 
tentions. It  is  true  that  Nuno  Sallido,  their  grandfather,  had  cautioned  them 
with  many  warnings,  for  he,  indeed,  suspected  the  deceit ;  but  it  was  in  vain, 
for  so  God  willed  or  permitted.  They  had  some  two  hundred  horsemen  with 
them,  of  their  vassals,  but  these  were  nothing  against  the  great  host  of  Moors 
that  set  upon  them  from  the  ambuscade  ;  and  although,  when  they  found  how 
it  was,  they  acquitted  themselves  like  good  gentlemen,  and  slew  many,  they 
could  accomplish  nothing  except  making  the  victory  dear  to  their  enemies. 
They  were  resolved  to  avoid  the  shame  of  captivity,  and  were  all  slain,  to- 
gether with  their  grandfather  Sallido.  Their  heads  were  sent  to  Cordova,  an 
agreeable  present  to  that  King,  but  a  sight  of  misery  to  their  aged  father, 
who,  being  brought  into  the  place  where  they  were,  recognized  them  in  spite 
of  the  dust  and  blood  with  which  they  were  disfigured.  It  is  true,  neverthe- 
less, that  he  derived  some  benefit  therefrom  ;  for  the  King,  out  of  the  com- 
passion which  he  felt,  set  him  at  liberty  to  depart  to  his  own  country. 

'  Mudara,  the  son  born  to  Gonzalo  (out  of  wedlock)  by  the  sister  of  the 
Moor,  when  he  had  attained  the  age  of  fourteen  years,  was  prevailed  on  by 
his  mother  to  go  in  search  of  his  father ;   and  he  it  was  that  avenged  the 


THE    SEVEN   HEADS. 


death  of  his  seven  brothers,  by  slaying  with  his  own  hand  Ruy  Velasquez, 
the  author  of  that  calamity.  Dona  Lambra  likewise,  who  had  been  the  ori- 
ginal cause  of  all  those  evils,  was  stoned  to  death  by  him  and  burnt. 

'  By  this  vengeance  which  he  took  for  the  murder  of  his  seven  brothers,  he 
so  won  to  himself  the  good-liking  of  his  father's  wife,  Dona  Sancha,  and  of 
all  the  kindred,  that  he  was  received  and  acknowledged  as  heir  to  the  signio- 
ries  of  his  father.  Dona  Sancha  herself  adopted  him  as  her  son,  and  the 
manner  of  the  adoption  was  thus,  not  less  memorable  than  rude  : — The  same 
day  that  he  was  baptized  and  stricken  knight,  by  Garci  Fernandez,  Count  of 
Castile,  the  lady  made  use  of  this  ceremony  : — she  drew  him  within  a  very 
wide  smock  by  the  sleeve,  and  thrust  his  head  forth  at  the  neck-band, 
and  then  kissing  him  on  the  face,  delivered  him  to  the  family  as  her  own 
child.         *         *         *         * 

•  In  the  cloister  of  the  monastery  of  Saint  Peter  of  Arlanza,  they  show  the 
sepulchre  of  Mudara.  But  concerning  the  place  where  his  seven  brothers 
were  buried,  there  is  a  dispute  between  the  members  of  that  house  and  those 
of  the  Monastery  of  Saint  Millan  at  Cogolla.' — (Mariana,  Book  viii.,  Chap.  9.) 

Such  is  Mariana's  edition  of  the  famous  story  of  the  Infants  of  Lara,  a 
story  which,  next  to  the  legends  of  the  Cid,  and  of  Bernardo  del  Carpio, 
appears  to  have  furnished  the  most  favorite  subjects  of  the  old  Spanish  min- 
strels. 

The  ballad,  a  translation  of  which  follows,  relates  to  a  part  of  the  history 
briefly  alluded  to  by  Mariana.  In  the  Chronicle,  we  are  informed  more 
minutely,  that,  after  the  Seven  Infants  were  slain,  Almanzor,  King  of  Cor- 
dova, invited  his  prisoner,  Gonzalo  Gustio,  to  feast  with  him  in  his  palace  ; 
but  when  the  Baron  of  Lara  came,  in  obedience  to  the  royal  invitation,  he 
found  the  heads  of  his  sons  set  forth  in  chargers  on  the  table.  The  old  man 
reproached  the  King  bitterly  for  the  cruelty  and  baseness  of  this  proceeding, 
and  suddenly  snatching  a  sword  from  the  side  of  one  of  the  royal  attendants, 
sacrificed  to  his  wrath,  ere  he  could  be  disarmed  and  fettered,  thirteen  of  the 
Moors  who  surrounded  the  person  of  Almanzor. 

Forty  highly  spirited  engravings  of  scenes  in  this  romantic  history,  by 
Tempesta,  after  designs  of  Otto  Van  Veen,  were  published  at  Antwerp,  in 
1612. 


Wfyz  Sstbm  p?eatrs. 


1  Who  bears  such  heart  of  basenessr  a  king  I'll  never  call, — ' 

Thus  spake  Gonzalo  Gustos  within  Almanzor's  hall ; 

To  the  proud  Moor  Almanzor,  within  his  kingly  hall, 

The  gray-haired  Knight  of  Lara  thus  spake  before  them  all : 

'  In  courteous  guise,  Almanzor,  your  messenger  was  sent, 

And  courteous  was  the  answer  with  which  from  me  he  went ; 

For  why  7 — I  thought  the  word  he  brought  of  a  knight  and  of  a  king ; 

But  false  Moor  henceforth  never  me  to  his  feast  shall  bring. 

1  Ye  bade  me  to  your  banquet,  and  I  at  your  bidding  came  ; 
Accursed  be  the  villany,  eternal  be  the  shame  ; 
For  ye  have  brought  an  old  man  forth,  that  he  your  sport  might  be  : 
Thank  God,  I  cheat  you  of  your  joy, — thank  God,  no  tear  you  see. 

4  My  gallant  boys,'  quoth  Lara,  •  it  is  a  heavy  sight 
These  dogs  have  brought  your  father  to  look  upon  this  night ; 
Seven  gentler  boys,  nor  braver,  were  never  nursed  in  Spain, 
And  blood  of  Moors,  God  rest  your  souls,  ye  shed  on  her  like  rain. 

1  Some  currish  plot,  some  trick  (God  wot !)  hath  laid  you  all  so  low, 

Ye  died  not  all  together  in  one  fair  battle  so  ; 

Not  all  the  misbelievers  ever  pricked  upon  yon  plain 

The  seven  brave  boys  of  Lara  in  open  field  had  slain. 


'  The  youngest  and  the  weakest,  Gonzalez  dear  !   wert  thou, 
Yet  well  this  false  Almanzor  remembers  thee,  I  trow  ; 
Oh,  well  doth  he  remember  how  on  his  helmet  rung 
Thy  fiery  mace,  Gonzalez  !  although  thou  wert  so  young. 


'  Thy  gallant  horse  had  fallen,  and  thou  hadst  mounted  thee 
Upon  a  stray  one  in  the  field, — his  own  true  barb  had  he  ; 
Oh,  hadst  thou  not  pursued  his  flight  upon  that  runaway, 
Ne'er  had  the  caitiff"  'scaped  that  night,  to  mock  thy  sire  to-day 

'  False  Moor,  I  am  thy  captive  thrall ;  but  when  thou  badest  me  forth, 
To  share  the  banquet  in  thy  hall,  I  trusted  in  the  worth 
Of  kingly  promise. — Think'st  thou  not  my  God  will  hear  my  prayer ! — 
Lord !  branchless  be  (like  mine)  his  tree, — yea,  branchless,  Lord,  and  bare  !' 

So  prayed  the  baron  in  his  ire,  but  when  he  looked  again, 
Then  burst  the  sorrow  of  the  sire,  and  tears  ran  down  like  rain  ; 
Wrath  no  more  could  check  the  sorrow  of  the  old  and  childless  man, 
And  like  waters  in  a  furrow,  down  his  cheeks  the  salt  tears  ran. 

He  took  their  heads  up  one  by  one, — he  kissed  them  o'er  and  o'er, 
And  aye  ye  saw  the  tears  down  run, — I  wot  that  grief  was  sore. 
He  closed  the  lids  on  their  dead  eyes  all  with  his  fingers  frail, 
And  handled  all  their  bloody  curls,  and  kissed  their  lips  so  pale. 

1  Oh,  had  ye  died  all  by  my  side  upon  some  famous  day, 

My  fair  young  men,  no  weak  tears  then  had  washed  your  blood  away  ! 

The  trumpet  of  Castile  had  drowned  the  misbelievers'  horn, 

And  the  last  of  all  the  Lara's  line  a  Gothic  spear  had  borne.' 

With  that  it  chanced  a  Moor  drew  near,  to  lead  him  from  the  place, 
Old  Lara  stooped  him  down  once  more,  and  kissed  Gonzalez'  face  ; 
But  ere  the  man  observed  him,  or  could  his  gesture  bar, 
Sudden  he  from  his  side  had  grasped  that  Moslem's  scymitar. 

Oh  !  swiftly  from  its  scabbard  the  crooked  blade  he  drew, 
And,  like  some  frantic  creature,  among  them  all  he  flew  ; — 
'Where,  where  is  false  Almanzor  ? — back,  bastards  of  Mahoun  !' 
And  here  and  there,  in  his  despair,  the  old  man  hewed  them  down. 

A  hundred  hands,  a  hundred  brands,  are  ready  in  the  hall, 

But  ere  they  mastered  Lara,  thirteen  of  them  did  fall ; 

He  has  sent,  I  ween,  a  good  thirteen  of  dogs  that  spurned  his  God, 

To  keep  his  children  company  beneath  the  Moorish  sod. 


Elje  Vengeance  of  JHntrara. 


This  is  another  of  the  many  ballads  concerning  the  Infants  of  Lara.     One  verse  of  it — 

El  espera  que  tu  diste  a  los  Infantes  de  Lara! 

Aqui  moriras  traydor  euemigo  de  Domia  Sancba, 

—is  quoted  by  Sancho  Fanza,  in  one  of  the  last  chapters  of  Don  Quixote. 


To  the  chase  goes  Rodrigo  with  hound  and  with  hawk  ; 
But  what  game  he  desires  is  revealed  in  his  talk  : 
1  Oh,  in  vain  have  I  slaughtered  the  Infants  of  Lara  : 
There  's  an  heir  in  his  hall, — there  's  the  bastard  Mudara. 
There  's  the  6on  of  the  renegade, — spawn  of  Mahoun, 
If  I  meet  with  Mudara,  my  spear  brings  him  down.' 

While  Rodrigo  rides  on  in  the  heat  of  his  wrath, 

A  stripling,  armed  cap-a-pee,  crosses  his  path  : 

'  Good  morrow,  young  esquire.' — '  Good  morrow,  old  knight.'- 

'  Will  you  ride  with  our  party,  and  share  our  delight  V — 

•  Speak  your  name,  courteous  stranger,'  the  stripling  replied  ; 

•  Speak  your  name  and  your  lineage,  ere  with  you  I  ride.' — 


'  My  name  is  Rodrigo,'  thus  answered  the  knight ; 

'  Of  the  line  of  old  Lara,  though  barred  from  my  right ; 

For  the  kinsman  of  Salas  proclaims  for  the  heir 

Of  our  ancestor's  castles  and  forestries  fair, 

A  bastard,  a  renegade's  offspring — Mudara — 

Whom  I  '11  send,  if  I  can,  to  the  Infants  of  Lara.' — 


THE   VENGEANCE   OF   MUDARA.  81 

1 1  behold  thee,  disgrace  to  thy  lineage  ! — with  joy* 
'  I  behold  thee,  thou  murderer  ! '  answered  the  boy. 
'  The  bastard  you  curse,  you  behold  him  in  me  ; 
But  his  brothers'  avenger  that  bastard  shall  be  ; 
Draw  !  for  I  am  the  renegade's  offspring,  Mudara ; 
We  shall  see  who  inherits  the  life-blood  of  Lara  !' — 

1 1  am  armed  for  the  forest-chase, — not  for  the  fight ; 

Let  me  go  for  my  shield  and  my  sword,'  cries  the  knight ; — 

1  Now  the  mercy  you  dealt  to  my  brothers  of  old, 

Be  the  hope  of  that  mercy  the  comfort  you  hold  ; 

Die,  foeman  to  Sancha— die,  traitor  to  Lara  !' — 

As  he  spake,  there  was  blood  on  the  spear  of  Mudara. 


anije  OTeiiafnfl  of  tije  &a&2  Kfytxtna. 


The  following  passage  occurs  in  Mariana's  History  (Book  viii.  Chap.  5 :) — 
'  There  are  who  affirm  that  this  Moor's  name  was  Abdalla,  and  that  he  had  to 
wife  Dona  Theresa,  sister  to  Alphonso,  King  of  Leon,  with  consent  of  that 
prince.  Great  and  flagrant  dishonor  !  The  purpose  was  to  gain  new  strength 
to  his  kingdom  by  this  Moorish  alliance  ;  but  some  pretences  were  set  forth 
that  Abdalla  had  exhibited  certain  signs  of  desiring  to  be  a  Christian,  that  in 
a  short  time  he  was  to  be  baptized,  and  the  like. 

'The  Lady  Theresa,  deceived  with  these  representations,  was  conducted  to 
Toledo,  where  the  nuptials  were  celebrated  in  great  splendor,  with  games  and 
sports,  and  a  banquet,  which  lasted  until  night.  The  company  having  left  the 
tables,  the  bride  was  then  carried  to  bed  ;  but  when  the  amorous  Moor  drew 
near  to  her, — Away,  (said  she  ;)  let  such  heavy  calamity,  such  baseness,  be 
far  from  me  !  One  of  two  things  must  be, — either  be  baptized,  thou  with  thy 
people,  and  then  come  to  my  arms,  or,  refusing  to  do  so,  keep  away  from  me 
forever.  If  otherwise,  fear  the  vengeance  of  men,  who  will  not  overlook  my 
insult  and  suffering  ;  and  the  wrath  of  God,  above  all,  which  will  follow  the 
violation  of  a  Christian  lady's  chastity.  Take  good  heed,  and  let  not  luxury, 
that  smooth  pest,  be  thy  ruin.  But  the  Moor  took  no  heed  of  her  words,  and 
lay  with  her  against  her  will.  The  Divine  vengeance  followed  swiftly,  for 
there  fell  on  him  a  severe  malady,  and  he  well  knew  within  himself  from  what 
cause  it  arose.  Immediately  he  sent  back  Dona  Theresa  to  her  brother's 
house,  with  great  gifts  which  he  had  bestowed  on  her  ;  but  she  made  herself 
a  nun,  in  the  Convent  of  Las  Huelgas  (near  Burgos,)  and  there  passed  the 
remainder  of  her  days  in  pious  labors  and  devotions,  in  which  she  found  her 
consolation  for  the  outrage  which  had  been  committed  on  her.' 

The  ballad  of  which  a  translation  follows,  tells  the  same  story  : — 

'  En  los  reynos  de  Leon  el  quinto  Alfonso  reynava,'  &c. 


W§t  OTetftfttjj  of  tfte  ILatrg  Efjeresa. 


'Twas  when  the  fifth  Alphonso  in  Leon  held  his  sway, 
King  Abdalla  of  Toledo  an  embassy  did  send  ; 
He  asked  his  sister  for  a  wife,  and  in  an  evil  day 
Alphonso  sent  her,  for  he  feared  Abdalla  to  offend  ; 
He  feared  to  move  his  anger,  for  many  times  before 
He  had  received  in  danger  much  succor  from  the  Moor. 

Sad  heart  had  fair  Theresa  when  she  their  paction  knew  ; 

With  streaming  tears  she  heard  them  tell  she  'mong  the  Moors  must  go  ; 

That  she,  a  Christian  damosell,  a  Christian  firm  and  true, 

Must  wed  a  Moorish  husband,  it  well  might  cause  her  wo  ; 

But  all  her  tears  and  all  her  prayers  they  are  of  small  avail ; 

At  length  she  for  her  fate  prepares,  a  victim  sad  and  pale. 

The  King  hath  sent  his  sister  to  fair  Toledo  town, 

Where  then  the  Moor  Abdalla  his  royal  state  did  keep  ; 

When  she  drew  near,  the  Moslem  from  his  golden  throne  came  down, 

And  courteously  received  her,  and  bade  her  cease  to  weep  ; 

With  loving  words  he  pressed  her  to  come  his  bower  within  ; 

With  kisses  he  caressed  her,  but  still  she  feared  the  sin. 

'  Sir  King,  Sir  King,  I  pray  thee,' — 't  was  thus  Theresa  spake, 

•  I  pray  thee  have  compassion,  and  do  to  me  no  wrong  ; 

For  sleep  with  thee  I  may  not,  unless  the  vows  I  break 

Whereby  I  to  the  holy  church  of  Christ  my  Lord  belong  ; 

But  thou  hast  sworn  to  serve  Mahoun,  and  if  this  thing  should  be, 

The  curse  of  God  it  must  bring  down  upon  thy  realm  and  thee. 


84  THE  WEDDING   OF   THE   LADY   THERESA. 

1  The  angel  of  Christ  Jesu,  to  whom  my  heavenly  Lord 

Hath  given  my  soul  in  keeping,  is  ever  by  my  side  ; 

If  thou  dost  me  dishonor,  he  will  unsheath  his  sword, 

And  smite  thy  body  fiercely,  at  the  crying  of  thy  bride. 

Invisible  he  standeth  ;  his  sword,  like  fiery  flame, 

Will  penetrate  thy  bosom,  the  hour  that  sees  my  shame.' — 

The  Moslem  heard  her  with  a  smile  ;  the  earnest  words  she  said 
He  took  for  bashful  maiden's  wile,  and  drew  her  to  his  bower. 
In  vain  Theresa  prayed  and  strove, — she  pressed  Abdalla's  bed, 
Perforce  received  his  kiss  of  love,  and  lost  her  maiden  flower. 
A  woful  woman  there  she  lay,  a  loving  lord  beside, 
And  earnestly  to  God  did  pray  her  succor  to  provide. 

The  Angel  of  Christ  Jesu  her  sore  complaint  did  hear, 

And  plucked  his  heavenly  weapon  from  out  his  sheath  unseen  ; 

He  waved  the  brand  in  his  right  hand,  and  to  the  King  came  near, 

And  drew  the  point  o'er  limb  and  joint,  beside  the  weeping  Queen. 

A  mortal  weakness  from  the  stroke  upon  the  King  did  fall. 

He  could  not  stand  when  daylight  broke,  but  on  his  knees  must  crawl, 

Abdalla  shuddered  inly,  when  he  this  sickness  felt, 

And  called  upon  his  barons,  his  pillow  to  come  nigh  ; 

•  Rise  up,'  he  said,  '  my  liegemen,'  as  round  his  bed  they  knelt, 

'  And  take  this  Christian  lady,  else  certainly  I  die  ; 

Let  gold  be  in  your  girdles,  and  precious  stones  beside, 

And  swiftly  ride  to  Leon,  and  render  up  my  bride.' — 

When  they  were  come  to  Leon,  Theresa  would  not  go 

Into  her  brother's  dwelling,  where  her  maiden  years  were  spent ; 

But  o'er  her  downcast  visage  a  white  veil  she  did  throw, 

And  to  the  ancient  nunnery  of  Las  Huelgas  went. 

There  long,  from  worldly  eyes  retired,  a  holy  life  she  led  ; 

There  she,  an  aged  saint,  expired, — there  sleeps  she  with  the  dead. 


3Tije  ¥ottttfl  <£ttr. 


The  ballads  in  the  collection  of  Escobar,  entitled  '  Romancero  e  Hi9toria  del  muy 
valeroso  Cavallero  El  Cid  Ruy  Diaz  de  Bivar,'  are  said  by  Mr.  Southey  to  be  in  general 
possessed  of  but  little  merit.  Notwithstanding  the  opinion  of  that  great  scholar  and 
poet,  I  have  had  much  pleasure  in  reading  them ;  and  have  translated  a  very  few,  which 
may  serve,  perhaps,  as  a  sufficient  specimen. 

The  following  is  a  version  of  that  which  stands  fifth  in  Escobar : — 

'Cavalga  Diego  Laynez  al  buen  Rey  besar  la  mano,'  &c. 


Now  rides  Diego  Laynez  to  kiss  the  good  King's  hand ; 
Three  hundred  men  of  gentry  go  with  him  from  his  land  ; 
Among  them,  young  Rodrigo,  the  proud  Knight  of  Bivar ; 
The  rest  on  mules  are  mounted,  he  on  his  horse  of  war. 

They  ride  in  glittering  gowns  of  soye, — he  harnessed  like  a  lord  ; 
There  is  no  gold  about  the  boy,  but  the  crosslet  of  his  sword  ; 
The  rest  have  gloves  of  sweet  perfume, — he  gauntlets  strong  of  mail ; 
They  broidered  cap  and  flaunting  plume, — he  crest  untaught  to  quail. 

All  talking  with  each  other  thus  along  their  way  they  passed, 
But  now  they've  come  to  Burgos,  and  met  the  King  at  last ; 
When  they  came  near  his  nobles,  a  whisper  through  them  ran, — 
•  He  rides  amidst  the  gentry  that  slew  the  Count  Lozan.' — 


With  very  haughty  gesture  Rodrigo  reined  his  horse, 

Right  scornfully  he  shouted,  when  he  heard  them  so  discourse  ;- 

'  If  any  of  his  kinsmen  or  vassals  dare  appear, 

The  man  to  give  them  answer,  on  horse  or  foot,  is  here.' — 


86  THE   YOUNG   C1D. 

•  The  devil  ask  the  question !'  thus  muttered  all  the  band  ; — 
With  that  they  all  alighted,  to  kiss  the  good  King's  hand, 
All  but  the  proud  Rodrigo,  he  in  his  saddle  stayed, — 

Then  turned  to  him  his  father  (you  may  hear  the  words  he  said.) 

•  Now,  'light,  my  son,  I  pray  thee,  and  kiss  the  good  King's  hand, 
He  is  our  Lord,  Rodrigo  ;  we  hold  of  him  our  land.' — 

But  when  Rodrigo  heard  him,  he  looked  in  sulky  sort, — 
I  wot  the  words  he  answered,  they  were  both  cold  and  short. 

4  Had  any  other  said  it,  his  pains  had  well  been  paid, 
But  thou,  sir,  art  my  father,  thy  word  must  be  obeyed.' — 
With  that  he  sprung  down  lightly,  before  the  King  to  kneel, 
But  as  the  knee  was  bending,  out  leapt  his  blade  of  steel. 

The  King  drew  back  in  terror,  when  he  saw  the  sword  was  bare  ; 

•  Stand  back,  stand  back,  Rodrigo  !  in  the  devil's  name,  beware  ! 
Your  looks  bespeak  a  creature  of  father  Adam's  mould, 

But  in  your  wild  behavior  you're  like  some  lion  bold.' 

When  Rodrigo  heard  him  say  so,  he  leapt  into  his  seat, 

And  thence  he  made  his  answer,  with  visage  nothing  sweet, — 

1  I'd  think  it  little  honor  to  kiss  a  kingly  palm, 

And  if  my  father's  kissed  it,  thereof  ashamed  I  am.' — 

When  he  these  words  had  uttered,  he  turned  him  from  the  gate, 
His  true  three  hundred  gentles  behind  him  followed  straight  ; 
If  with  good  gowns  they  came  that  day,  with  better  arms  they  went ; 
And  if  their  mules  behind  did  stay,  with  horses  they're  content. 


XCntnta  tomantra  UmQtantt. 


This  ballad  represents  Ximena  Gomez  as,  in  person,  demanding  of  the  King  vengeance 
for  the  death  of  her  father,  whom  the  young  Rodrigo  de  Bivar  had  fought  and  slain. 

•  Grande  rumor  se  levanta 
De  gritos,  armas,  y  vozes, 
En  el  Palacio  de  Burgos 
Donde  son  los  buenos  homes. 
Baxa  el  Rey  de  su  aposento,  y  con  el  toda  la  Corte ; 

Y  a  las  puertas  de  Palacio  hallan  a  Ximena  Gomez, 
Desmelenado  el  cabello,  Uorando  a  su  padre  el  Conde,        ' 

Y  a  Rodrigo  de  Bivar  ensangrentado  el  cs toque' 


Within  the  court  at  Burgos  a  clamor  doth  arise, 

Of  arms  on  armor  clashing',  of  screams,  and  shouts,  and  cries  ; 

The  good  men  of  the  King,  that  sit  his  hall  around, 

All  suddenly  upspring,  astonished  at  the  sound. 

The  King  leans  from  his  chamber,  from  the  balcony  on  high  : 
'  What  means  this  furious  clamor  my  palace-porch  so  nigh  V 
But  when  he  looked  below  him,  there  were  horsemen  at  the  gate, 
And  the  fair  Ximena  Gomez,  kneeling  in  woful  state. 

Upon  her  neck,  disordered,  hung  down  the  lady's  hair, 
And  floods  of  tears  were  streaming  upon  her  bosom  fair  ; 
Sore  wept  she  for  her  father,  the  Count  that  had  been  slain  ; 
Loud  cursed  she  Rodrigo,  whose  sword  his  blood  did  stain. 

They  turned  to  bold  Rodrigo,  I  wot  his  cheek  was  red  ; 
With  haughty  wrath  he  listened  to  the  words  Ximena  said  : 
4  Good  King,  I  cry  for  justice.    Now,  as  my  voice  thou  hearest, 
So  God  befriend  the  children,  that  in  thy  land  thou  rearest 


88  XIMENA  DEMANDS   VENGEANCE. 

'  The  King  that  doth  not  justice  hath  forfeited  his  claim, 
Both  to  his  kingly  station,  and  to  his  knightly  name  ; 
He  should  not  sit  at  banquet,  clad  in  the  royal  pall, 
Nor  should  the  nobles  serve  him  on  knee  within  the  hall. 

•  Good  King,  I  am  descended  from  barons  bright  of  old, 
Who  with  Castilian  pennons  Pelayo  did  uphold  ; 
But  if  my  strain  were  lowly,  as  it  is  high  and  clear, 
Thou  still  shouldst  prop  the  feeble,  and  the  afflicted  hear. 

'  For  thee,  fierce  homicide  !  draw,  draw  thy  sword  once  more, 
And  pierce  the  breast  which  wide  I  spread  thy  stroke  before  ; 
Because  I  am  a  woman,  my  life  thou  need'st  not  spare  : 
I  am  Ximena  Gomez,  my  slaughtered  father's  heir. 

'  Since  thou  hast  slain  the  knight  that  did  our  faith  defend, 
And  still  to  shameful  flight  all  the  Almanzors  did  send, 
'Tis  but  a  little  matter  that  I  confront  thee  so  : 
Come,  traitor,  slay  his  daughter,  she  needs  must  be  thy  foe.' 

Ximena  gazed  upon  him,  but  no  reply  could  meet ; 

His  fingers  held  the  bridle,  he  vaulted  to  his  seat. 

She  turned  her  to  the  nobles,  I  wot  her  cry  was  loud, 

But  not  a  man  dum  follow  ;  slow  rode  he  through  the  crowd. 


STfje  <&ttr  antr  tije  jFtbe  Jfcoorfsfj  Ittttfls. 


The  reader  will  find  the  story  of  this  ballad  in  Mr.  Southey's  Chronicle  (Book  i., 
Sect.  4.)  '  And  the  Moors  entered  Castile  in  great  power,  for  there  came  with  them  five 
kings,'  &x:. 


With  fire  and  desolation  the  Moors  are  in  Castile, 

Five  Moorish  kings  together,  and  all  their  vassals  leal ; 

They  've  passed  in  front  of  Burgos,  through  the  Oca-Hills  they  've  run, 

They  've  plundered  Belforado,  San  Domingo's  harm  is  done. 

In  Najara  and  Logrono  there  's  waste  and  disarray  : — 
And  now  with  Christian  captives,  a  very  heavy  prey, 
With  many  men  and  women,  and  boys  and  girls  beside, 
In  joy  and  exultation  to  their  own  realms  they  ride. 

For  neither  king  nor  noble  would  dare  their  path  to  cross, 
Until  the  good  Rodrigo  heard  of  this  skaith  and  loss  ; 
In  old  Bivar  the  castle  he  heard  the  tidings  told 
(He  was  as  yet  a  stripling,  not  twenty  summers  old.) 

He  mounted  Bavieca,  his  friends  he  with  him  took, 
He  raised  the  country  round  him,  no  more  such  scorn  to  brook  j 
He  rode  to  the  hills  of  Oca,  where  then  the  Moormen  lay, 
He  conquered  all  the  Moormen,  and  took  from  them  their  prey. 

To  every  man  had  mounted  he  gave  his  part  of  gain, 
Dispersing  the  much  treasure  the  Saracens  had  ta'en  ; 
The  kings  were  all  the  booty  himself  had  from  the  war, 
Them  led  he  to  the  castle,  his  stronghold  of  Bivar. 

12 


90 


THE   CID   AND   THE   FIVE   MOORISH  KINGS. 


He  brought  them  to  hie  mother,  proud  dame  that  day  was  she  :- 
They  owned  him  for  their  Signior,  and  then  he  set  them  free  ; 
Home  went  they,  much  commending  Rodrigo  of  Bivar, 
And  sent  him  lordly  tribute,  from  their  Moorish  realms  afar. 


&ijc  i&tti'n  <£ourtflf)fp. 


[See  Mr.  Southey's  Chronicle  (Book  i.,  Sect.  5,)  for  this  part  of  the  Cid's  story,  as 
given  in  the  General  Chronicle  of  Spain.] 

Now,  of  Rodrigo  de  Bivar  great  was  the  fame  that  run, 
How  he  five  kings  had  vanquished,  proud  Moormen  every  one  ; 
And  how,  when  they  consented  to  hold  of  him  their  ground, 
He  freed  them  from  the  prison  wherein  they  had  been  bound. 

To  the  good  King  Fernando,  in  Burgos  where  he  lay, 
Came  then  Ximena  Gomez,  and  thus  to  him  did  say  : — 
'  I  am  Don  Gomez'  daughter,  in  Gormaz  Count  was  he  ; 
Him  slew  Rodrigo  of  Bivar  in  battle  valiantly. 

'  Now  am  I  come  before  you,  this  day  a  boon  to  crave, — 
And  it  is  that  I  to  husband  may  this  Rodrigo  have  ; 
Grant  this,  and  I  shall  hold  me  a  happy  damosell, 
Much  honored  shall  I  hold  me, — I  shall  be  married  welL 

4 1  know  he  's  born  for  thriving,  none  like  him  in  the  land  ; 
I  know  that  none  in  battle  against  his  spear  may  stand  ; 
Forgiveness  is  well  pleasing  in  God  our  Saviour's  view, 
And  I  forgive  him  freely,  for  that  my  sire  he  slew.' 

Right  pleasing  to  Fernando  was  the  thing  she  did  propose  ; 
He  writes  his  letter  swiftly,  and  forth  his  foot-page  goes  ; 
I  wot,  when  young  Rodrigo  saw  how  the  king  did  write, 
He  leapt  on  Bavieca, — I  wot  his  leap  was  light 


92  the  cid's  courtship. 

With  his  own  troop  of  true  men  forthwith  he  took  the  way, 
Three  hundred  friends  and  kinsmen,  all  gently  born  were  they  ; 
All  in  one  color  mantled,  in  armor  gleaming  gay, 
New  were  both  scarf  and  scabbard,  when  they  went  forth  that  day. 

The  King  came  out  to  meet  him,  with  words  of  hearty  cheer  ; 
Quoth  he,  '  My  good  Rodrigo,  right  welcome  art  thou  here  ; 
This  girl  Ximena  Gomez  would  have  thee  for  her  lord, 
Already  for  the  slaughter  her  grace  6be  doth  accord. 

'  I  pray  thee  be  consenting,  my  gladness  will  be  great ; 
Thou  shalt  have  lands  in  plenty,  to  strengthen  thine  estate.' 
'  Lord  King,'  Rodrigo  answers,  « in  this  and  all  beside, 
Command,  and  I  '11  obey  thee.     The  girl  shall  be  my  bride  !' 

But  when  the  fair  Ximena  came  forth  to  plight  her  hand, 
Rodrigo  gazing  on  her,  his  face  could  not  command  : 
He  stood  and  blushed  before  her  ; — thus  at  the  last  said  he,— 
'  I  slew  thy  sire,  Ximena,  but  not  in  villany  : 

'  In  no  disguise  I  slew  him, — man  against  man  I  stood  ; 
There  was  some  wrong  between  us,  and  I  did  shed  his  blood. 
I  slew  a  man,  I  owe  a  man  ;  fair  lady,  by  God's  grace  ! 
An  honored  husband  thou  shalt  have  in  thy  dead  father's  place.' 


&f)e  attr's  wmtmtiQ. 


The  following  ballad,  which  contains  some  curious  traits  of  rough  and  antique  man- 
ners, is  not  included  in  Escobar's  collection.  There  is  one  there  descriptive  of  the  same 
event,  but  apparently  executed  by  a  much  more  modern  hand. 


Within  his  hall  of  Burgos  the  King  prepares  the  feast ; 

He  makes  his  preparation  for  many  a  noble  guest 

It  is  a  joyful  city,  it  is  a  gallant  day, 

'Tis  the  Campeador's  wedding,  and  who  will  bide  away"? 

Layn  Calvo,  the  Lord  Bishop,  he  first  comes  forth  the  gate  ; 
Behind  hira  comes  Ruy  Diaz,  in  all  his  bridal  state  ; 
The  crowd  makes  way  before  them  as  up  the  street  they  go  ; 
For  the  multitude  of  people  their  steps  must  needs  be  slow. 

The  King  had  taken  order  that  they  should  rear  an  arch, 
From  house  to  house  all  over,  in  the  way  that  they  must  march  ; 
They  have  hung  it  all  with  lances,  and  shields,  and  glittering  helms, 
Brought  by  the  Campeador  from  out  the  Moorish  realms. 

They  have  scattered  olive  branches  and  rushes  on  the  street, 
And  the  ladies  fling  down  garlands  at  the  Campeador's  feet ; 
With  tapestry  and  broidery  their  balconies  between, 
To  do  his  bridal  honor,  their  walls  the  burghers  screen. 

They  lead  the  bulls  before  them  all  covered  o'er  with  trappings ; 
The  little  boys  pursue  them  with  hootings  and  with  clappings  ; 
The  fool,  with  cap  and  bladder,  upon  his  ass  goes  prancing, 
Amidst  troops  of  captive  maidens  with  bells  and  cymbals  dancing. 


94  the  cid's  wedding. 

With  antics  and  with  fooleries,  with  shouting  and  with  laughter, 
They  fill  the  streets  of  Burgos — and  The  Devil  he  comes  after  ; 
For  the  King  has  hired  the  horned  fiend  for  twenty  maravedis, 
And  there  he  goes,  with  hoofs  for  toes,  to  terrify  the  ladies. 

Then  comes  the  bride  Ximena, — the  King  he  holds  her  hand  ; 
And  the  Queen  ;  and,  all  in  fur  and  pall,  the  nobles  of  the  land. 
All  down  the  street  the  ears  of  wheat  are  round  Ximena  flying, 
But  the  King  lifts  off  her  bosom  sweet  whatever  there  is  lying. 

Quoth  Suero,  when  he  saw  it,  (his  thought  you  understand,) 
•  'Tis  a  fine  thing  to  be  a  King, — but  Heaven  make  me  a  Hand  !' 
The  King  was  very  merry,  when  he  was  told  of  this, 
And  swore  the  bride,  ere  eventide,  must  give  the  boy  a  kiss. 

The  King  went  always  talking,  but  she  held  down  her  head, 
And  seldom  gave  an  answer  to  any  thing  he  said  ; 
It  was  better  to  be  silent,  among  such  a  crowd  of  folk, 
Than  utter  words  so  meaningless  as  she  did  when  she  spoke. 


m&t  ©ttr  antr  tfje  Heper. 


Like  our  own  Robert  the  Bruce,  the  great  Spanish  hero  is  represented  as  exhibiting, 
on  many  occasions,  great  gentleness  of  disposition  and  compassion.  But  while  old  Bar- 
bour is  contented  with  such  simple  anecdotes  as  that  of  a  poor  laundress  being  suddenly 
taken  ill  with  the  pains  of  child-birth,  and  the  King  stopping  the  march  of  his  army 
rather  than  leave  her  unprotected,  the  minstrels  of  Spain,  never  losing  an  opportunity  of 
gratifying  the  superstitious  propensities  of  their  audience,  are  sure  to  let  no  similar  inci- 
dent in  their  champion's  history  pass  without  a  miracle. 


He  has  ta'en  some  twenty  gentlemen,  along  with  him  to  go, 
For  he  will  pay  that  ancient  vow  he  to  Saint  James  doth  owe  ; 
I    To  Compostella,  where  the  shrine  doth  hy  the  altar  stand, 
;    The  good  Rodrigo  de  Bivar  is  riding  through  the  land. 

Where'er  he  goes,  much  alms  he  throws,  to  feeble  folk  and  poor ; 

Beside  the  way  for  him  they  pray,  him  blessings  to  procure  ; 
\    For,  God  and  Mary  Mother,  their  heavenly  grace  to  win, 
<    His  hand  was  ever  bountiful :  great  was  his  joy  therein. 


And  there,  in  middle  of  the  path,  a  leper  did  appear  ; 
In  a  deep  slough  the  leper  lay  ;  to  help  would  none  come  near, 
Though  earnestly  he  thence  did  cry,  '  For  God  our  Saviour's  sake, 
From  out  this  fearful  jeopardy  a  Christian  brother  take.' 

When  Roderick  heard  that  piteous  word,  he  from  his  horse  came  down  ; 
For  all  they  said,  no  stay  he  made,  that  noble  champioun  ; 
He  reached  his  hand  to  pluck  him  forth,  of  fear  was  no  account, 
Then  mounted  on  his  steed  of  worth,  and  made  the  leper  mount. 


96  THE   CID   AND   THE   LEPEK. 

Behind  him  rode  the  leprous  man  ;  when  to  their  hostelrie 
They  came,  he  made  him  eat  with  him  at  table  cheerfully  ; 
While  all  the  rest  from  that  poor  guest  with  loathing  shrunk  away, 
To  his  own  bed  the  wretch  he  led,  beside  him  there  he  lay. 

All  at  the  mid-hour  of  the  night,  while  good  Rodrigo  slept, 
A  breath  came  from  the  leprosite,  which  through  his  shoulders  crept ; 
Right  through  the  body,  by  the  heart,  passed  forth  that  breathing  cold ; 
I  wot  he  leaped  up  with  a  start,  in  terrors  manifold. 

He  groped  for  him  in  the  bed,  but  him  he  could  not  find, 
Through  the  dark  chamber  groped  he,  with  very  anxious  mind  ; 
Loudly  he  lifted  up  his  voice,  with  speed  a  lamp  was  brought, 
Yet  nowhere  was  the  leper  seen,  though  far  and  near  they  sought 

He  turned  him  to  his  chamber,  God  wot !  perplexed  sore 
With  that  which  had  befallen — when  lo  !  his  face  before, 
There  stood  a  man  all  clothed  in  vesture  shining  white  : 
Thus  said  the  vision,  '  Sleepest  thou,  or  wakest  thou,  Sir  Knight  ?' 

•  I  sleep  not,'  quoth  Rodrigo  ;  '  but  tell  me  who  art  thou, 
For,  in  the  midst  of  darkness,  much  light  is  on  thy  brow  !' 
4 1  am  the  holy  Lazarus,  I  come  to  speak  with  thee  ; 

I  am  the  same  poor  leper  thou  savedst  for  charity. 

4  Not  vain  the  trial,  nor  in  vain  thy  victory  hath  been ; 
God  favors  thee,  for  that  my  pain  thou  didst  relieve  yestreen. 
There  shall  be  honor  with  thee,  in  battle  and  in  peace, 
Success  in  all  thy  doings,  and  plentiful  increase. 

*  Strong  enemies  shall  not  prevail  thy  greatness  to  undo  ; 

Thy  name  shall  make  men's  cheeks  full  pale — Christians  and  Moslem  too  ; 
A  death  of  honor  shalt  thou  die,  such  grace  to  thee  is  given, 
Thy  soul  shall  part  victoriously,  and  be  received  in  heaven.' 

When  he  these  gracious  words  had  said,  the  spirit  vanished  quite. 
Rodrigo  rose  and  knelt  him  down, — he  knelt  till  morning  light ; 
Unto  the  heavenly  Father,  and  Mary  Mother  dear, 
He  made  his  prayer  right  humbly,  till  dawned  the  morning  clear. 


iiautcca. 


Montaigne,  in  his  curious  Essay,  entitled  '  Des  Destriers,'  says  that  all  the  world 
knows  every  thing  about  Bucephalus.  The  name  of  the  favorite  charger  of  the  Cid  Ruy 
Diaz  is  scarcely  less  celebrated.  Notice  is  taken  of  him  in  almost  every  one  of  the  hun- 
dred ballads  concerning  the  history  of  his  master, — and  there  are  some  among  them,  of 
which  the  horse  is  more  truly  the  hero  than  his  rider.  In  one  of  these  ballads,  the  Cid  is 
giving  directions  about  his  funeral ;  he  desires  that  they  shall  place  his  body  '  in  full 
armor  upon  Bavieca,'  and  so  conduct  him  to  the  church  of  San  Pedro  de  Cardena.  This 
was  done  accordingly  ;  and,  says  another  ballad  : — 

Truxeron  pues  a  Rabieca; 
Y  en  mirandole  se  puso 
Tan  triste  como  si  fuera 
Mas  rasonable  que  bruto. 

In  the  Cid's  last  will,  mention  is  also  made  of  his  noble  charger.  '  When  ye  bury  Ba- 
vieca, dig  deep,'  says  Ruy  Diaz ;  '  for  shameful  thing  were  if,  that  he  should  be  eaten  by 
curs,  who  hath  trampled  down  so  much  currish  flesh  of  Moors.'  He  was  buried  near  his 
master)  under  the  tree3  in  front  of  the  convent  of  San  Pedro  of  Cardefla. 


The  King  looked  on  him  kindly,  as  on  a  vassal  true  ; 
Then  to  the  King  Ruy  Diaz  spake  after  reverence  due* 
1  O  King,  the  thing  is  shameful,  that  any  man  beside 
The  liege  lord  of  Castile  himself  should  Bavieca  ride  : 

*  For  neither  Spain  nor  Araby  could  another  charger  bring 

So  good  as  he,  and  certes,  the  best  befits  my  king. 

But  that  you  may  behold  him,  and  know  him  to  the  core, 

I'll  make  him  go  as  he  was  wont  when  his  nostrils  smelt  the  Moor. 

13 


BAVIECA. 

With  that,  the  Cid,  clad'as  he  was  in  mantle  furred  and  wide, 
On  Bavieca  vaulting,  put  the  rowel  in  his  side  ; 
And  up  and  down,  and  round  and  round,  so  fierce  was  his  career, 
Streamed  like  a  pennon  on  the  wind  Ruy  Diaz'  minivere. 

And  all  that  saw  them  praised  them, — they  lauded  man  and  horse, 
As  matched  well,  and  rivalless  for  gallantry  and  force  ; 
Ne'er  had  they  looked  on  horseman  might  to  this  knight  come  near, 
Nor  on  other  charger  worthy  of  such  a  cavalier. 

Thus,  to  and  fro  a-rushing,  the  fierce  and  furious  steed, 
He  snapped  in  twain  his  hither  rein  : — '  God  pity  now  the  Cid  ! — 
God  pity  Diaz  !'  cried  the  Lords, — but  when  they  looked  again, 
They  saw  Ruy  Diaz  ruling  him,  with  the  fragment  of  his  rein  ; 
They  saw  him  proudly  ruling  with  gesture  firm  and  calm, 
Like  a  true  lord  commanding, — and  obeyed  as  by  a  lamb. 

And  so  he  led  him  foaming  and  panting  to  the  King, — 
But  '  No  !'  said  Don  Alphonso,  '  it  were  a  shameful  thing 
That  peerless  Bavieca  should  ever  be  bestrid 
By  any  mortal  but  Bivar, — mount,  mount  again,  my  Cid  !' 


&t)e  fSpeommunicatfoti  of  t§t  <&to. 


The  last  specimen  I  shall  give  of  the  Cid-ballads,  is  one,  the  subject  of  which  is  evi- 
dently of  the  most  apocryphal  cast.  It  is,  however,  so  far  as  1  recollect,  the  only  one  of 
all  that  immense  collection  that  is  quoted  or  alluded  to  in  Don  Quixote.  '  Sancho,'  cried 
the  knight,  '  I  am  afraid  of  being  excommunicated  for  having  laid  violent  hands  upon  a 
man  in  holy  orders,  Juxta  illud;  si  quis  suadenle  diabolo,  &c.  But  yet,  now  I  think 
better  ou  it,  I  never  touched  him  with  my  hands,  but  only  with  my  lance ;  besides,  I 
did  not  in  the  least  suspect  I  had  to  do  with  priests,  whom  I  honor  and  revere  as  every 
good  Catholic  and  faithful  Christian  ought  to  do,  but  rather  took  them  to  be  evil  spirits. 
Well,  let  the  worst  come  to  the  worst,  I  remember  what  befel  the  Cid  Ruy  Diaz,  when 
he  broke  to  pieces  the  chair  of  a  king's  ambassador  in  the  Pope's  presence,  for  which  he 
was  excommunicated ;  which  did  not  hinder  the  worthy  Rodrigo  de  Bivar  from  behaving 
himself  that  day  like  a  valorous  knight,  and  a  man  of  honor.' 


It  was  when  from  Spain  across  the  main  the  Cid  had  come  to  Rome, 
He  chanced  to  see  chairs  four  and  three  beneath  Saint  Peter's  dome  : 
'  Now  tell,  I  pray,  what  chairs  be  they  V — '  Seven  kings  do  sit  thereon, 
As  well  doth  suit,  all  at  the  foot  of  the  holy  Father's  throne. 

4  The  Pope  he  sitteth  above  them  all,  that  they  may  kiss  his  toe, 
Below  the  keys  the  Flower-de-lys  doth  make  a  gallant  show  ; 
For  his  great  puissance,  the  King  of  France  next  to  the  Pope  may  sit, 
The  rest  more  low,  all  in  a  row,  as  doth  their  station  fit.' 


1  Ha !'  quoth  the  Cid,  *  now,  God  forbid  !  it  is  a  shame,  I  wiss, 
To  see  the  Castle  planted  below  the  Flower-de-lys. 
No  harm,  I  hope,  good  Father  Pope, — although  I  move  thy  chair.' 
— In  pieces  small  he  kicked  it  all  ('twas  of  the  ivory  fair)  : — 


100  THE   EXCOMMUNICATION   OF   THE   CID. 

The  Pope's  own  seat  he  from  his  feet  did  kick  it  far  away, 
And  the  Spanish  chair  he  planted  upon  its  place  that  day  ; 
Above  them  all  he  planted  it,  and  laughed  right  bitterly  ; 
Looks  sour  and  bad  I  trow  he  had,  as  grim  as  grim  might  be. 

Now  when  the  Pope  was  aware  of  this,  he  was  an  angry  man, 
His  lips  that  night,  with  solemn  rite,  pronounced  the  awful  ban  : 
The  curse  of  God,  who  died  on  rood,  was  on  that  sinner's  head  ; 
To  hell  and  woe  man's  soul  must  go  if  once  that  curse  be  said. 

I  wot,  when  the  Cid  was  aware  of  this,  a  woful  man  was  he, 
At  dawn  of  day  he  came  to  pray  at  the  blessed  Father's  knee : 
Absolve  me,  blessed  Father  !  have  pity  on  my  prayer,    ^ 
Absolve  my  soul,  and  penance  I  for  my  sin  will  bear.  * 

'  Who  is  this  sinner,'  quoth  the  Pope,  \  that  at  my  foot  doth  kneel  1 

'  I  am  Rodrigo  Diaz— a  poor  baron  of  Castile,' 

Much  marvelled  all  were  in  the  hall,  when  that  name  they  heard  him  say ; 

■  Rise  up,  rise  up  !'  the  Pope  he  said,  '  I  do  thy  guilt  away  ; — 

'  I  do  thy  guilt  away,'  he  said, — '  my  curse  I  blot  it  out : 
God  save  Rodrigo  Diaz,  my  Christian  champion  stout  5 
I  trow,  if  I  had  known  thee,  my  grief  it  had  been  sore, 
To  curse  Ruy  Diaz  de  Bivar,  God's  scourge  upon  the  Moor,' 


<Karct  pert j  tit  Vavnau. 


The  crowns  of  Castile  and  Leon  being  at  length  joined  in  the  person  of 
King  Ferdinand,  surnamed  El  Santo,  the  authority  of  the  Moors  in  Spain 
was  destined  to  receive  many  severe  blows  from  the  united  efforts  of  two 
Christian  states,  which  had  in  former  times  too  often  exerted  their  vigor 
against  each  other.  The  most  important  event  of  King  Ferdinand's  reign 
was  the  conquest  of  Seville,  which  great  city  yielded  to  his  arms  in  the  year 
1248,  after  sustaining  a  long  and  arduous  siege  of  sixteen  months. 

Don  Garci  Perez  de  Vargas  was  one  of  the  most  distinguished  warriors 
who  on  this  occasion  fought  under  the  banners  of  Ferdinand  ;  and  accord- 
ingly there  are  many  ballads  of  which  he  is  the  hero.  The  incident  cele- 
brated in  that  which  follows,  is  thus  told,  with  a  few  variations,  in  Mariana, 
(Book  xiii.,  Chap.  7.) 

•  Above  all  others,  there  signalized  himself  in  these  affairs  that  Garci  Perez 
de  Vargas,  a  native  of  Toledo,  of  whose  valor  so  many  marvellous,  and  almost 
incredible  achievements  are  related.  One  day,  about  the  beginning  of  the 
siege,  this  Garci,  and  another  with  him,  were  riding  by  the  side  of  the  river, 
at  some  distance  from  the  outposts,  when,  of  a  sudden,  there  came  upon  them 
a  party  of  seven  Moors  on  horseback.  The  companion  of  Perez  was  for 
returning  immediately,  but  he  replied,  that,  Never,  even  though  he  should  lose 
his  life  for  it,  would  he  consent  to  the  baseness  of  flight.  With  that,  his 
companion  riding  off,  Perez  armed  himself,  closed  his  visor,  and  put  his  lance 
in  the  rest.  But  the  enemies,  when  they  knew  who  it  was,  declined  the 
combat. 

1  He  had  therefore  pursued  his  way  by  himself  for  some  space,  when  he 
perceived,  that  in  lacing  the  head-piece  and  shutting  the  visor,  he  had,  by 
inadvertence,  dropped  his  scarf.  He  immediately  returned  upon  his  steps 
that  he  might  seek  for  it.  The  King,'as  it  happened,  had  his  eyes  upon 
Perez  all  this  time,  for  the  royal  tent  looked  towards  the  place  where  he  was 
riding ;  and  he  never  doubted  that  the  knight  had  turned  back  for  the  pur- 


LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 


102 


GARCI   PEREZ   DE   VARGAS. 


pose  of  provoking  the  Moors  to  the  combat.  But  they  avoided  him  as  before, 
and  he,  having  regained  his  scarf,  came  in  safety  to  the  camp. 

'  The  honor  of  the  action  was  much  increased  by  this  circumstance,  that, 
although  frequently  pressed  to  disclose  the  name  of  the  gentleman  who  had 
deserted  him  in  that  moment  of  danger,  Perez  would  never  consent  to  do  so, 
for  his  modesty  was  equal  to  his  bravery.' 

A  little  farther  on,  Mariana  relates,  that  Garci  Perez  had  a  dispute  with 
another  gentleman,  who  thought  proper  to  assert  that  Garci  had  no  right  to 
assume  the  coat-of-arms  which  he  wore.  •  A  sally  having  been  made  by  the 
Moors,  that  gentleman,  among  many  more,  made  his  escape,  but  Garci  stood 
firm  to  his  post,  and  never  came  back  to  the  camp  until  the  Moors  were  driven 
again  into  the  city.  He  came  with  his  shield  all  bruised  and  battered  to  the 
place  where  the  gentleman  was  standing,  and  pointing  to  the  effaced  bearing 
which  was  on  it,  said,  Indeed,  sir,  it  must  be  confessed  that  you  show  more 
respect  than  I  do  to  this  same  coat-of-arms,*  for  you  keep  yours  bright  and  un- 
sullied, while  mine  is  sadly  discolored.  The  gentleman  was  sorely  ashamed, 
and  thenceforth  Garci  Perez  bore  his  achievment  without  gainsaying  or  dis- 
pute.' 


* 


<&avti  percf  tit  TJarijas. 


King  Ferdinand  'alone  did  stand  one  day  upon  the  hill, 
Surveying  all  his  leaguer,  and  the  ramparts  of  Seville  ; 
The  sight  was  grand,  when  Ferdinand  by  proud  Seville  was  lying, 
O'er  tower  and  tree  far  off  to  see  the  Christian  banners  flying. 

Down  chanced  the  King  his  eye  to  fling,  where  far  the  camp  below 

Two  gentlemen  along  the  glen  were  riding  soft  and  slow  ; 

As  void  of  fear  each  cavalier  seemed  to  be  riding  there, 

As  some  strong  hound  may  pace  around  the  roebuck's  thicket  lair. 

It  was  Don  Garci  Perez,  and  he  would  breathe  the  air, 
And  he  had  ta'en  a  knight  with  him,  that  as  lief  had  been  elsewhere  ; 
For  soon  this  knight  to  Garci  said,  •  Ride,  ride  we,  or  we  're  lost ! 
I  see  the  glance  of  helm  and  lance, — it  is  the  Moorish  host !' 

The  Lord  of  Vargas  turned  him  round,  his  trusty  squire  was  near, — 
The  helmet  on  his  brow  he  bound,  his  gauntlet  grasped  the  spear  ; 
With  that  upon  his  saddle-tree  he  planted  him  right  steady, 
4  Now  come,'  quoth  he,  J  whoe'er  they  be,  I  trow  they  '11  find  us  ready.' 

By  this  the  knight  who  rode  with  him  had  turned  his  horse's  head, 
And  up  the  glen  in  fearful  trim  unto  the  camp  had  fled. 
4  Ha  !  gone  V  quoth  Garci  Perez  ; — he  smiled,  and,  said  no  more, 
But  slowly,  with  his  esquire,  rode  as  he  rode  before. 

It  was  the  Count  Lorenzo,  just  then  it  happened  so, 

He  took  his  stand  by  Ferdinand,  and  with  him  gazed  below  ; 

4  My  liege,'  quoth  he,  4  seven  Moors  I  see  a-coming  from  the  wood, 

Now  bring  they  all  the  blows  they  may,  I  trow  they  '11  find  as  good  ; 


104  GABCI  PEREZ  DE  VARGAS. 

But  it  is  Don  Garci  Perez, — if  his  cognizance  they  know, 
I  guess  it  will  be  little  pain  to  give  them  blow  for  blow.' 

The  Moors  from  forth  the  greenwood  came  riding  one  by  one, 
A  gallant  troop  with  armor  resplendent  in  the  sun  ; 
Full  haughty  was  their  bearing,  as  o'er  the  sward  they  came, 
While  the  calm  Lord  of  Vargas  his  march  was  still  the  same. 

They  stood  drawn  up  in  order,  while  past  them  all  rode  he, 
For  when  upon  his  shield  they  saw  the  sable  blazonry, 
And  the  wings  of  the  Black  Eagle,  that  o'er  his  crest  were  spread, 
They  knew  Don  Garci  Perez,  and  never  word  they  said. 

He  took  the  casque  from  off  his  head,  and  gave  it  to  the  squire, 
1  My  friend,'  quoth  he,  '  no  need  I  see  why  I  my  brows  should  tire.' 
But  as  he  doffed  the  helmet,  he  saw  his  scarf  was  gone, — 
'  I've  dropped  it  sure,'  quoth  Garci,  '  when  I  put  my  helmet  on.' 

He  looked  around  and  saw  the  scarf,  for  still  the  Moors  were  near, 
And  they  had  picked  it  from  the  sward,  and  looped  it  on  a  spear  ; 
'  These  Moors,'  quoth  Garci  Perez,  '  uncorteous  Moors  they  be, — 
Now,  by  my  soul,  the  scarf  they  stole,  yet  durst  not  question  me  ! 

'  Now,  reach  once  more  my  helmet.' — The  esquire  said  him  nay, 
'  For  a  silken  string  why  should  ye  fling  perchance  your  life  away  V 
— '  I  had  it  from  my  lady,'  quoth  Garci,  '  long  ago, 
And  never  Moor  that  scarf,  be  sure,  in  proud  Seville  shall  show.' — 

But  when  the  Moslem  saw  him  they  stood  in  firm  array, 

— He  rode  among  their  armed  throng,  he  rode  right  furiously ; 

— •  Stand,  stand,  ye  thieves  and  robbers,  lay  down  my  lady's  pledge  !-' 

He  cried, — and  ever  as  he  cried  they  felt  his  faulchion's  edge. 

That  day  the  Lord  of  Vargas  came  to  the  camp  alone  ; 
The  scarf,  his  lady's  largess,  around  his  breast  was  thrown  J 
Bare  was  his  head,  his  sword  was  red,  and  from  his  pommel  strung, 
Seven  turbans  green,  sore  hacked  I  ween,  before  Don  Garci  hung. 


STije  IPountor, 


A  ballad  concerning  another  doughty  knight  of  the  same  family,  and  most  probably, 
considering  the  date,  a  brother  of  Garci  Perez  de  Vargas.  Its  story  is  thus  alluded  to  in 
Don  Quixote,  in  the  chapter  of  the  Windmills: 

'  However,  the  loss  of  his  lance  was  no  small  affliction  to  him  ;  and  as  he  was  making 
his  complaint  about  it  to  his  squire,  I  have  read,  said  he,  friend  Sancho,  that  a  certain 
Spanish  knight,  whose  name  was  Diego  Perez  de  Vargas,  having  broken  his  sword  in  the 
heat  of  an  engagement,  pulled  up  by  the  roots  a  wild  olive-tree,  or  at  least,  tore  down  a 
massy  branch,  and  did  such  wonderful  execution,  crushing  and  grinding  so  many  Moors 
with  it  that  day,  that  he  won  himself  and  his  posterity  the  surname  of  The  Pounder,  or 
Bruiser.  [Machuca,  from  Machucar,  to  pound  as  in  a  mortar.]  I  tell  this,  because  I 
intend  to  tear  up  the  next  oak,  or  holm-tree,  we  meet;  with  the  trunk  whereof  I  hope  to 
perform  such  wondrous  deeds  that  thou  wilt  esteem  thyself  particularly  happy  in  having 
had  the  honor  to  behold  them,  and  been  the  ocular  witness  of  achievements  which  pos- 
terity will  scarce  be  able  to  believe. — Heaven  grant  you  may !  cried  Sancho  :  I  believe  it 
all,  because  your  worship  says  it.' 


The  Christians  have  beleaguered  the  famous  walls  of  Xeres, 
Among  them  are  Don  Alvar  and  Don  Diego  Perez, 
And  many  other  gentlemen,  who,  day  succeeding  day, 
Give  challenge  to  the  Saracen  and  all  his  chivalry. 

When  rages  the  hot  battle  before  the  gates  of  Xeres, 
By  trace  of  gore  ye  may  explore  the  dauntless  path  of  Perez. 
No  knight  like  Don  Diego, — no  sword  like  his  is  found 
In  all  the  host,  to  hew  the  boast  of  Paynims  to  the  ground. 

It  fell  one  day  when  furiously  they  battled  on  the  plain, 
Diego  shivered  both  his  lance  and  trusty  blade  in  twain ; 
The  Moors  that  saw  it  shouted,  for  esquire  none  was  near, 
To  serve  Diego  at  his  need  with  falchion,  mace,  or  spear. 


106 


THE   POUNDER. 


Loud,  loud  he  blew  his  bugle,  sore  troubled  was  his  eye, 
But  by  God's  grace  before  his  face  there  stood  a  tree  full  nigh, — 
An  olive-tree  with  branches  strong,  close  by  the  wall  of  Xeres, — 
1  Yon  goodly  bough  will  serve,  I  trow,'  quoth  Don  Diego  Perez. 

A  gnarled  branch  he  soon  did  wrench  down  from  that  olive  strong, 
Which  o'er  his  head-piece  brandishing,  he  spurs  among  the  throng. 
God  wot !  full  many  a  Pagan  must  in  his  saddle  reel ! — 
What  leech  may  cure,  what  beadsman  shrive,  if  once  that  weight  ye  feel  ] 

But  when  Don  Alvar  saw  him  thus  bruising  down  the  foe, 
Quoth  he,  '  I've  seen  some  flail-armed  man  belabor  barley  so, 
Sure  mortal  mould  did  ne'er  enfold  such  mastery  of  power ; 
Let's  call  Diego  Perez  the  founder,  from  this  hour.' — 


£fje  JHtnfter  of  tije  faster. 


The  next  four  ballads  relate  to  the  history  of  Don  Pedro,  King  of  Castile, 
called  The  cruel. 

An  ingenious  person  not  long  ago  published  a  work,  the  avowed  purpose 
of  which  was  to  prove  that  Tiberius  was  a  humane  and  contemplative  prince, 
who  retired  to  the  Island  of  Capreae  only  that  he  might  the  better  indulge  in 
the  harmless  luxury  of  philosophic  meditation : — and,  in  like  manner,  Pedro 
the  Cruel  has  found,  in  these  latter  times,  his  defenders  and  apologists ;  above 
all,  Voltaire. 

There  may  be  traced,  without  doubt,  in  the  circumstances  which  attended 
his  accession,  something  to  palliate  the  atrocity  of  several  of  his  bloody  acts. 
His  father  had  treated  his  mother  with  contempt :  he  had  not  only  entertained, 
as  his  mistress,  in  her  lifetime,  a  lady  of  the  powerful  family  of  Guzman,  but 
actually  proclaimed  that  lady  his  queen,  and  brought  up  her  sons  as  princes 
in  his  palace  ;  nay,  he  had  even  betrayed  some  intentions  of  violating,  in  their 
favor,  the  order  of  succession,  and  the  rights  of  Pedro.  And,  accordingly, 
no  sooner  was  Alphonso  dead,  and  Pedro  acknowledged  by  the  nobility,  than 
Leonora  de  Guzman,  and  her  sons,  whether  from  consciousness  of  guilt,  or 
from  fear  of  violence,  or  from  both  of  these  causes,  betook  themselves  to 
various  places  of  strength,  where  they  endeavored  to  defend  themselves 
against  the  authority  of  the  new  king.  After  a  little  time,  matters  were 
accommodated  by  the  interference  of  friends,  and  Donna  Leonora  took  up 
her  residence  at  Seville  ;  but  Pedro  was  suddenly,  while  in  that  city,  seized 
with  a  distemper  which  his  physicians  said  must,  ifl.  all  probability,  have  a 
mortal  termination  ;  and  during  his  confinement,  (which  lasted  for  several 
weeks,)  many  intrigues  were  set  afoot,  and  the  pretensions  of  various  candi- 
dates for  the  throne  openly  canvassed  among  the  nobility  of  Castile. 

Whether  the  king  had,  on  his  recovery,  discovered  any  thing  indicative  of 
treasonous  intentions  in  the  recent  conduct  of  Leonora  and  her  family  (which, 
all  things  considered,  seems  not  improbable,)  or  whether  he  merely  suffered 
himself,  as  was  said  at  the  time,  to  be  over-persuaded  by  the  vindictive  argu- 


108 


THE  MURDER  OF  THE  MASTER. 


ments  of  his  own  mother,  the  queen-dowager,  the  fact  is  certain,  that  in  the 
course  of  a  few  days,  Donna  Leonora  was  arrested,  and  put  to  death  by 
Pedro's  command,  in  the  Castle  of  Talaveyra.  Don  Fadrique,  or  Frederick, 
one  of  her  sons,  who  had  obtained  the  dignity  of  Master  of  the  Order  of  St. 
Iago,  fled  upon  this  into  Portugal,  and  fortified  himself  in  the  city  of  Coimbra ; 
while  another  of  them,  Don  Enrique,  or  Henry,  Lord  of  Trastamara,  took 
refuge  at  the  Court  of  Arragon,  openly  renouncing  his  allegiance  to  the  crown 
of  Castile,  and  professing  himself  henceforth,  in  all  things,  the  subject  and 
vassal  of  the  prince  who  gave  him  protection. 

Henry  of  Trastamara  was,  from  this  time,  the  declared  and  active  enemy 
of  his  brother  ;  and  in  consequence  of  his  influence,  and  that  of  his  mother's 
kindred,  but  most  of  all,  in  consequence  of  Don  Pedro's  own  atrocious  pro- 
ceedings, Castile  itself  was  filled  with  continual  tumults  and  insurrections. 

Don  Fadrique,  however,  made  his  peace  with  Pedro.  After  a  lapse  of  many 
months,  he  was  invited  to  come  to  the  court  at  Seville,  and  take  his  share  in 
the  amusements  of  an  approaching  tournament.  He  accepted  the  invitation, 
but  was  received  with  terrible  coldness,  and  immediately  executed  within  the 
palace.  The  friends  of  Pedro  asserted  that  the  king  had  that  very  day  de- 
tected Don  Fadrique  in  a  correspondence  with  his  brother  Henry  and  the 
Arragonese  ;  while  popular  belief  attributed  the  slaughter  of  the  Master  to 
the  unhappy  influence  which  the  too-celebrated  Maria  de  Padilla  had  long 
ere  this  begun  to  exercise  over  Pedro's  mind. 

Maria  was  often,  in  consequence  of  her  close  intimacy  with  Jews,  called 
by  the  name  of  their  hated  race  ;  but  she  was  in  reality  not  only  of  Christian, 
but  of  noble  descent  in  Spain.  However  that  might  be,  Pedro  found  her  in 
the  family  of  his  minister,  Albuquerque,  where  she  had  been  brought  up, 
loved  her  with  all  the  violence  of  his  temper,  and  made  her  his  wife  in  all 
things  but  the  name.  Although  political  motives  induced  him,  not  long  after- 
wards, to  contract  an  alliance  with  a  princess  of  the  French  blood  royal, — the 
unfortunate  Blanche  of  Bourbon, — he  lived  with  the  young  queen  but  a  few 
days,  and  then  deserted  her  forever,  for  the  sake  of  this  beautiful,  jealous, 
and  imperious  mistress,  whom  he  declared  to  be  his  true  wife. 

The  reader  will  observe  that  there  is  a  strange  peculiarity  in  the  structure 
of  the  ballad  which  narrates  the  Murder  of  the  Master  of  St.  Iago.  The  un- 
fortunate Fadrique  is  introduced  at  the  beginning  of  it  as  telling  his  own 
story,  and  so  he  carries  it  on,  in  the  first  person,  until  the  order  for  his  exe- 
cution is  pronounced  by  Pedro.  The  sequel  is  given  as  if  by  another  voice. 
I  can  suppose  this  singularity  to  have  had  a  musical  origin. 

The  Master  was  slain  in  the  year  1358. 


&§z  i&urtrer  of  tije  J&aster. 


I  sat  alone  in  Coimbra — the  town  myself  had  ta'en, 
When  came  into  my  chamber,  a  messenger  from  Spain  ; 
There  was  no  treason  in  his  look,  an  honest  look  he  wore  ; 
I  from  his  hand  the  letter  took, — my  brother's  seal  it  bore. 

*  Come,  brother  dear,  the  day  draws  near,'  ('t  was  thus  bespoke  the  King,) 
'  For  plenar  court  and  knightly  sport,  within  the  listed  ring.' — 
Alas  !  unhappy  Master,  I  easy  credence  lent ; 
Alas  !  for  fast  and  faster  I  at  his  bidding  went 

When  I  set  off  from  Coimbra,  and  passed  the  bound  of  Spain, 

I  had  a  goodly  company  of  spearmen  in  my  train  ; 

A  gallant  force,  a  score  of  horse,  and  sturdy  mules  thirteen  : 

With  joyful  heart  I  held  my  course, — my  years  were  young  and  green. 

A  journey  of  good  fifteen  days  within  the  week  was  done, 

I  halted  not,  though  signs  I  got,  dark  tokens  many  a  one  ; 

A  strong  stream  mastered  horse  and  mule, — I  lost  my  poniard  fine, — 

And  left  a  page  within  the  pool — a  faithful  page  of  mine. 

Yet  on  to  proud  Seville  I  rode  ;  when  to  the  gate  I  came, 
Before  me  stood  a  man  of  God,  to  warn  me  from  the  same  ; 
The  words  he  spake  I  would  not  hear,  his  grief  I  would  not  see, 
I  seek,  said  T,  my  brother  dear, — I  will  not  stop  for  thee. 

No  lists  were  closed  upon  the  sand,  for  royal  tourney  dight ; 
No  pawing  horse  was  seen  to  stand, — I  saw  no  armed  knight ; 
Yet  aye  I  gave  my  mule  the  spur,  and  hastened  through  the  town, 
I  stopped  before  his  palace-door,  then  gaily  leapt  I  down. 


110  THE  MURDER  OF  THE  MASTER. 

They  shut  the  door,  my  trusty  score  of  friends  were  left  behind  ; 

I  would  not  hear  their  whispered  fear,  no  harm  was  in  my  mind  ; 

I  greeted  Pedro,  but  he  turned, — I  wot  his  look  was  cold  ; 

His  brother  from  his  knee  he  spurned  ; — '  Stand  off,  thou  Master  bold  !' — 

'  Stand  off,  stand  off,  thou  traitor  strong  !' — 'twas  thus  he  said  to  me, 
'  Thy  time  on  earth  shall  not  be  long, — what  brings  thee  to  my  knee  1 
My  lady  craves  a  new-year's  gift,  and  I  will  keep  my  word  ; 
Thy  head  methinks  may  serve  the  shift, — Good  yeoman,  draw  thy  sword  !' 


The  Master  lay  upon  the  floor  ere  well  that  word  was  said  : 
Then  in  a  charger  off  they  bore  his  pale  and  bloody  head  ; 
They  brought  it  to  Padilla's  chair, — they  bowed  them  on  the  knee  ; 
'  King  Pedro  greets  thee,  lady  fair,  his  gift  he  sends  to  thee.' — 

She  gazed  upon  the  Master's  head,  her  scorn  it  could  not  scare, 
And  cruel  were  the  words  she  said,  and  proud  her  glances  were  ; 
'  Thou  now  shalt  pay,  thou  traitor  base  !  the  debt  of  many  a  year  ; 
My  dog  shall  lick  that  haughty  face  ;  no  more  that  lip  shall  sneer.' 

She  seized  it  by  the  clotted  hair,  and  o'er  the  window  flung  ; 
The  mastiff  smelt  it  in  his  lair,  forth  at  her  cry  he  sprung ; 
The  mastiff  that  had  crouched  so  low  to  lick  the  Master's  hand, 
He  tossed  the  morsel  to  and  fro,  and  licked  it  on  the  sand. 

And  ever  as  the  mastiff  tore,  his  bloody  teeth  were  shown, 
With  growl  and  snort  he  made  his  sport,  and  picked  it  to  the  bone  ; 
The  baying  of  the  beast  was  loud,  and  swiftly  on  the  street 
There  gathered  round  a  gaping  crowd,  to  see  the  mastiff  eat 

Then  out  and  spake  King  Pedro, — '  What  governance  is  this  1 
The  rabble  rout,  my  gate  without,  torment  my  dogs,  I  wiss.' 
Then  out  and  spake  King  Pedro's  page,  '  It  is  the  Master's  head  ; 
The  mastiff  tears  it  in  his  rage, — therewith  they  him  have  fed.' 

Then  out  and  spake  the  ancient  nurse,  that  nursed  the  brothers  twain, 
'  On  thee,  King  Pedro,  lies  the  curse, — thy  brother  thou  hast  slain  ; 


THE   MURDER   OF   THE   MASTER. 


Ill 


A  thousand  harlots  there  may  be  within  the  realm  of  Spain, 
But  where  is  she  can  give  to  thee  thy  brother  back  again !' 

Came  darkness  o'er  King  Pedro's  brow,  when  thus  he  heard  her  say  ; 
He  sorely  rued  the  accursed  vow  he  had  fulfilled  that  day  ; 
He  passed  unto  his  paramour,  where  on  her  couch  she  lay, 
Leaning  from  out  her  painted  bower,  to  see  the  mastiff's  play. 


He  drew  her  to  a  dungeon  dark,  a  dungeon  strong  and  deep  ; 
'  My  father's  son  lies  stiff  and  stark,  and  there  are  few  to  weep. 
Fadrique's  blood  for  vengeance  calls,  his  cry  is  in  mine  ear  ; 
Thou  art  the  cause,  thou  harlot  false  !  in  darkness  lie  thou  here.' 


STJje  Beatfj  of  fauttn  Elancije. 


That  Pedro  was  accessary  to  the  violent  death  of  this  young  and  innocent 
princess  whom  he  had  married,  and  immediately  afterwards  deserted  for  ever, 
there  can  be  no  doubt  This  atrocious  deed  was  avenged  abundantly  ;  for  it 
certainly  led,  in  the  issue,  to  the  downfall  and  death  of  Pedro  himself. 
Mariana  says,  very  briefly,  that  the  injuries  sustained  by  Queen  Blanche  had 
so  much  offended  many  of  Pedro's  own  nobility,  that  they  drew  up  a  formal 
remonstrance,  and  presented  it  to  him  in  a  style  sufficiently  formidable  ;  and 
that  he,  his  proud  and  fierce  temper  being  stung  to  madness  by  what  he  con- 
sidered an  unjustifiable  interference  with  his  domestic  concerns,  immediately 
gave  orders  for  the  poisoning  of  Blanche  in  her  prison. 

In  the  old  French  Memoirs  of  Du  Guesclin,  a  much  more  improbable  story 
is  told  at  great  length.  The  Queen  Blanche,  according  to  this  account,  had 
been  banished  to  the  Castle  of  Medina  Sidonia,  the  adjoining  territory  being 
assigned  to  her  for  her  maintenance.  One  of  her  vassals,  a  Jew,  presumed 
to  do  his  homage  in  the  usual  fashion,  that  is,  by  kissing  Blanche  on  the 
cheek,  ere  his  true  character  was  suspected  either  by  her  or  her  attendants. 
No  sooner  was  the  man  known  to  be  a  Jew,  than  he  was  driven  from  the 
presence  of  the  queen  with  every  mark  of  insult ;  and  this  sunk  so  deeply 
into  his  mind,  that  he  determined  to  revenge  himself,  if  possible,  by  the  death 
of  Blanche.  He  told  his  story  to  Maria  de  Padilla,  who  prevailed  on  the  king 
to  suffer  him  to  take  his  own  measures  ;  and  he  accordingly  surprised  the 
castle  by  night,  at  the  head  of  a  troop  of  his  own  countrymen,  and  butchered 
the  unhappy  lady. 

The  ballad  itself  is,  in  all  likelihood,  as  trust- worthy  as  any  other  authority  ; 
the  true  particulars  of  such  a  crime  were  pretty  sure  to  be  kept  concealed. 


tElje  Beat))  of  <auccu  iilaucije. 


•  Makia  de  Padilla,  be  not  thus  of  dismal  mood, 

For  if  I  twice  have  wedded  me,  it  all  was  for  thy  good  ; 

'  But  if  upon  Queen  Blanche  ye  will  that  I  some  scorn  should  show, 
For  a  banner  to  Medina  my  messenger  shall  go  ; 

•  The  work  shall  be  of  Blanche's  tears,  of  Blanche's  blood  the  ground  ; 
Such  pennon  shall  they  weave  for  thee,  such  sacrifice  be  found.' 

Then  to  the  Lord  of  Ortis,  that  excellent  baron, 

He  said,  '  Now  hear  me,  Ynigo,  forthwith  for  this  begone.' 

Then  answer  made  Don  Ynigo,  •  Such  gift  I  ne'er  will  bring, 
For  he  that  harmeth  Lady  Blanche  doth  harm  my  lord  the  king.' 

Then  Pedro  to  his  chamber  went,  his  cheek  was  burning  red, 
And  to  a  bowman  of  his  guard  the  dark  command  he  said. 

The  bowman  to  Medina  passed  ;  when  the  queen  beheld  him  near, 

•  Alas  !'  she  said,  'my  maidens,  he  brings  my  death,  I  fear.' 

Then  said  the  archer,  bending  low,  '  The  King's  commandment  take, 
And  see  thy  soul  be  ordered  well  with  God  that  did  it  make, — 

•  For  lo  !  thine  hour  is  come,  therefrom  no  refuge  may  there  be.' 
Then  gently  spake  the  Lady  Blanche,  '  My  friend,  I  pardon  thee  ; 

•  Do  what  thou  wilt,  so  be  the  King  hath  his  commandment  given, 
Deny  me  not  confession, — if  so,  forgive  ye,  Heaven  !' 


114 


THE  DEATH  OF  QUEEN  BLANCHE. 


Much  grieved  the  bowman  for  her  tears,  and  for  her  beauty's  sake, 
While  thus  Queen  Blanche  of  Bourbon  her  last  complaint  did  make  ; — 

1  O  France  !  my  noble  country — O  blood  of  high  Bourbon  ! 
Not  eighteen  years  have  I  seen  out  before  my  life  is  gone. 

'  The  King  hath  never  known  me.     A  virgin  true  I  die. 
Whate'er  I've  done,  to  proud  Castile  no  treason  e'er  did  I. 

'  The  crown  they  put  upon  my  head  was  a  crown  of  blood  and  sighs, 
God  grant  me  soon  another  crown  more  precious  in  the  skies  !' 


These  words  she  spake,  then  down  she  knelt,  and  took  the  bowman's  blow ; 
Her  tender  neck  was  cut  in  twain,  and  out  her  blood  did  flow. 


tTljc  Deatij  of  %bon  IJrtro. 


The  reader  may  remember,  that  when  Don  Pedro  had,  by  his  excessive 
cruelties,  quite  alienated  from  himself  the  hearts  of  the  great  majority  of  his 
people,  Don  Henry  of  Trastamara,  his  natural  brother,  who  had  spent  many 
years  in  exile,  returned  suddenly  into  Spain  with  a  formidable  band  of  French 
auxiliaries,  by  whose  aid  he  drove  Pedro  out  of  his  kingdom.  The  voice  of 
the  nation  was  on  Henry's  side,  and  he  took  possession  of  the  throne  without 
further  opposition. 

Pedro,  after  his  treatment  of  Queen  Blanche,  could  have  nothing  to  hope 
from  the  crown  of  France,  so  he  immediately  threw  himself  into  the  arms  of 
England.  And  our  Edward  the  Black  Prince,  who  then  commanded  in  Gas- 
cony,  had  more  than  one  obvious  reason  for  taking  up  his  cause. 

The  Prince  of  Wales  marched  with  Don  Pedro  into  Spain,  at  the  head  of 
an  army  of  English  and  Gascon  veterans,  whose  disciplined  valor,  Mariana 
very  frankly  confesses,  gave  them  a  decided  superiority  over  the  Spanish 
soldiery  of  the  time.  Henry  was  so  unwise  as  to  set  his  stake  upon  a  battle, 
and  was  totally  defeated  in  the  field  of  Najara.  Unable  to  rally  his  flying 
troops,  he  was  compelled  to  make  his  escape  beyond  the  Pyrenees  ;  and  Don 
Pedro  once  more  established  himself  in  his  kingdom.-*-The  battle  of  Najara 
took  place  in  1366. 

But,  in  1368,  when  the  Black  Prince  had  retired  again  into  Gascony, 
Henry,  in  his  turn,  came  back  from  exile  with  a  small  but  gallant  army,  most 
of  whom  were  French,  commanded  by  the  celebrated  Bertram  Du  Gleasquin, 
or,  as  he  is  more  commonly  called,  Du  Guesclin, — and  animated,  as  was 
natural,  by  strong  thirst  of  vengeance  for  the  insults,  which,  in  the  person  of 
Blanche,  Pedro  had  heaped  upon  the  royal  line  of  their  country,  and  the  blood 
of  Saint  Louis. 

Henry  of  Trastamara  advanced  into  the  heart  of  La  Mancha,  and  there 
encountered  Don  Pedro,  at  the  head  of  an  army  six  times  more  numerous 
than  that  which  he  commanded,  but  composed  in  a  great  measure  of  Jews, 


Saracens,  and  Portuguese, — miscellaneous  auxiliaries,  who  gave  way  before 
the  ardor  of  the  French  chivalry,  so  that  Henry  remained  victorious,  and 
Pedro  was  compelled  to  take  refuge  in  the  neighboring  castle  of  Montiel. 
That  fortress  was  so  strictly  blockaded  by  the  successful  enemy,  that  the 
king  was  compelled  to  attempt  his  escape  by  night,  with  only  twelve  persons 
in  his  retinue, — Ferdinand  de  Castro  being  the  person  of  most  note  among 
them. 

As  they  wandered  in  the  dark,  they  were  encountered  by  a  body  of  French 
cavalry  making  the  rounds,  commanded  by  an  adventurous  knight,  called  Le 
Begue  de  Villaines.     Compelled  to  surrender,  Don  Pedro  put  himself  under 
the  safeguard  of  this  officer,  promising  him  a  rich  ransom  if  he  would  conceal 
him  from  the  knowledge  of  his  brother  Henry.     The  knight,  according  to 
Froissart,  promised  him  concealment,  and  conveyed  him  to  his  own  quarters. 
But  in  the  course  of  an  hour,  Henry  was  apprised  that  he  was  taken,  and 
came  with  some  of  his  followers,  to  the  tent  of  Allan  de  la  Houssaye,  where 
his  unfortunate  brother  had  been  placed.     In  entering  the  chamber,  he  ex- 
claimed, '  Where  is  that  whoreson  and  Jew,  who  calls  himself  King  of  Cas- 
tile V — Pedro,  as  proud  and  fearless  as  he  was  cruel,  stepped  instantly  forward 
and  replied,  '  Here  I  stand,  the  lawful  son  and  heir  of  Don  Alphonso,  and  it 
is  thou  that  art  but  a  false  bastard.'     The  rival  brethren  instantly  grappled 
like  lions,  the  French  knights  and  Du  Guesclin  himself  looking  on.     Henry 
drew  his  poniard,  and  wounded  Pedro  in  the  face,  but  his  body  was  defended 
by  a  coat-of-mail ; — a  violent  struggle  ensued  : — Henry  fell  across  a  bench, 
and  his  brother  being  uppermost,  had  well-nigh  mastered  him,  when  one  of 
Henry's  followers,  seizing  Don  Pedro  by  the  leg,  turned  him  over,  and  his 
master,  thus  at  length  gaining  the  upper-hand,  instantly  stabbed  the  king  to 
the  heart. 
|        Froissart  calls  this  man  the  Vicomte  de  Roquebetyn,  and  others  the  Bastard 
|    of  Anisse.      Menard,  in  his  History  of  Du  Guesclin,  says,  that  while  all 
!    around  gazed  like  statues  on  the  furious  struggle  of  the  brothers,  Du  Guesclin 
1    exclaimed  to  this  attendant  of  Henry,  '  What !  will  you  stand  by  and  see 
\    your  master  placed  at  such  a  pass  by  a  false  renegade  1 — Make  forward  and 
aid  him,  for  well  you  may.' 

Pedro's  head  was  cut  off,  and  his  remains  were  meanly  buried.  They  were 
|  afterwards  disinterred  by  his  daughter,  the  wife  of  our  own  John  of  Gaunt, 
j  '  time-honored  Lancaster,'  and  deposited  in  Seville,  with  the  honors  due  to 
5  his  rank.  His  memory  was  regarded  with  a  strange  mixture  of  horror  and 
\  compassion,  which  recommended  him  as  a  subject  for  legend  and  for  romance. 
\    He  had  caused  his  innocent  wife  to  be  assassinated, — had  murdered  three  of 


THE  DEATH  OF  DON  PEDRO.  117 

his  brothers, — and  committed  numberless  cruelties  upon  his  subjects.  He 
had,  which  the  age  held  equally  scandalous,  held  a  close  intimacy  with  the 
Jews  and  Saracens,  and  had  enriched  himself  at  the  expense  of  the  church. 
Yet,  in  spite  of  all  these  crimes,  his  undaunted  bravery  and  energy  of  charac- 
ter, together  with  the  strange  circumstances  of  his  death,  excited  milder 
feelings  towards  his  memory. 

The  following  ballad,  which  describes  the  death  of  Don  Pedro,  was  trans- 
lated by  a  friend  (the  late  Sir  Walter  Scott)  It  is  quoted  more  than  once 
by  Cervantes  in  Don  Quixote. 


ftije  Beat!)  of  Hon  $rtrro. 


Henry-  and  King  Pedro  clasping, 
Hold  in  straining  arms  each  other  ; 

Tugging  hard,  and  closely  grasping, 

Brother  proves  his  strength  with  brother. 

Harmless  pastime,  sport  fraternal, 
Blends  not  thus  their  limbs  in  strife ; 

Either  aims,  with  rage  infernal, 
Naked  dagger,  sharpened  knife. 

Close  Don  Henry  grapples  Pedro, 

Pedro  holds  Don  Henry  strait, 
Breathing,  this,  triumphant  fury, 

That,  despair  and  mortal  hate. 

Sole  spectator  of  the  struggle, 
Stands  Don  Henry's  page  afar, 

In  the  chase  who  bore  his  bugle, 
And  who  bore  his  sword  in  war. 

Down  they  go  in  deadly  wrestle, 

Down  upon  the  earth  they  go, 
Fierce  King  Pedro  has  the  vantage, 

Stout  Don  Henry  falls  below. 

Marking  then  the  fatal  crisis, 

Up  the  page  of  Henry  ran, 
By  the  waist  he  caught  Don  Pedro, 

Aiding  thus  the  fallen  man. 


THE    DEATH    OF   DON   PEDRO. 

King  to  place,  or  to  depose  him, 
Dwelleth  not  in  my  desire, 

But  the  duty  which  he  owes  him, 
To  his  master  pays  the  squire.' — 

Now  Don  Henry  has  the  upmost, 
Now  King  Pedro  lies  beneath, 

In  his  heart  his  brother's  poniard 
Instant  finds  its  bloody  sheath. 

Thus  with  mortal  gasp  and  quiver, 
While  the  blood  in  bubbles  welled, 

Fled  the  fiercest  soul  that  ever 
In  a  Christian  bosom  dwelled. 


<njc  proclamation  of  mm  Qn\\vi>. 


The  following  ballad,  taking  up  the  story  where  it  is  left  in  the  preceding 
one,  gives  us  the  proclamation  and  coronation  of  Don  Henry,  surnamed,  from 
the  courtesy  of  his  manners,  El  Cavallero,  and  the  grief  of  Pedro's  lovely  and 
unhappy  mistress,  Maria  de  Padilla.  From  its  structure  and  versification,  I 
have  no  doubt  it  is  of  much  more  modern  origin  than  most  of  those  in  the  first 
Cancionero. 

The  picture  which  Mariana  gives  us  of  Don  Pedro,  the  hero  of  60  many 
atrocious  and  tragical  stories,  is  to  me  very  striking.  '  He  was  pale  of  com- 
plexion,' says  the  historian ;  •  his  features  were  high  and  well  formed,  and 
stamped  with  a  certain  authority  of  majesty,  his  hair  red,  his  figure  erect, 
even  to  stiffness  ;  he  was  bold  and  determined  in  action  and  in  council ;  his 
bodily  frame  sank  under  no  fatigues,  his  spirit  under  no  weight  of  difficulty  or 
of  danger.     He  was  passionately  fond  of  hawking,  and  all  violent  exercises. 

1  In  the  beginning  of  his  reign,  he  administered  justice  among  private  in- 
dividuals with  perfect  integrity.  But  even  then  were  visible  in  him  the  rudi- 
ments of  those  vices  which  grew  with  his  age,  and  finally  led  him  to  his 
ruin  ;  such  as  a  general  contempt  and  scorn  of  mankind,  an  insulting  tongue, 
a  proud  and  difficult  ear,  even  to  those  of  his  household.  These  faults  were 
discernible  even  in  his  tender  years  ;  to  them,  as  he  advanced  in  life,  were 
added  avarice,  dissolution  in  luxury,  an  utter  hardness  of  heart,  and  a  re- 
morseless cruelty.' — (Mariana,  Book  xvi.,  Chap.  16.) 

The  reader  will  find  almost  the  whole  of  Don  Pedro's  history  clothed  in  a 
strain  of  glowing  and  elegant  poetry,  in  a  performance  of  the  Baron  de  la 
Motte  Fouque.  (See  his  'Bertrand  Du  Guesclin,  historisches  ritter- 
gedicht' — Leipsig,  1822.) 


STfje  proclamation  of  Bins  P?ent£. 


At  the  feet  of  Don  Henrique  now  King  Pedro  dead  is  lying, 
Not  that  Henry's  might  was  greater,  but  that  blood  to  Heaven  was  crying  ; 
Though  deep  the  dagger  had  its  sheath  within  his  brother's  breast, 
Firm  on  the  frozen  throat  beneath  Don  Henry's  foot  is  pressed. 

So  dark  and  sullen  is  the  glare  of  Pedro's  lifeless  eyes, 
Still  half  he  fears  what  slumbers  there  to  vengeance  may  arise. 
So  stands  the  brother, — on  his  brow  the  mark  of  blood  is  seen, 
Yet  had  he  not  been  Pedro's  Cain,  his  Cain  had  Pedro  been. 

Close  round  the  scene  of  cursed  strife,  the  armed  knights  appear 
Of  either  band,  with  silent  thoughts  of  joyfulness  or  fear  ; 
All  for  a  space,  in  silence,  the  fratricide  survey, — 
Then  sudden  bursts  the  mingling  voice  of  triumph  and  dismay  ! 

Glad  shout  on  shout  from  Henry's  host  ascends  unto  the  sky  ; 
•  God  save  King  Henry — save  the  King — King  Henry  !'  is  their  cry. 
But  Pedro's  barons  clasp  their  brows,  in  sadness  stand  they  near, 
Whate'er  to  others  he  had  been,  their  friend  lies  murdered  here. 

The  deed,  say  those,  was  justly  done, — a  tyrant's  soul  is  sped  ; 
These  ban  and  curse  the  traitorous  blow  by  which  a  king  is  dead. 
'  Now  see,'  cries  one,  'how  Heaven's  amand  asserts  the  people's  rights  !' 
Another — •  God  will  judge  the  hand  that  God's  anointed  smites  !' — 

'  The  Lord's  vicegerent,'  quoth  a  priest,  '  is  sovereign  of  the  land, 
And  he  rebels  'gainst  Heaven's  behest,  that  slights  his  King's  command  !' 
'  Now  Heaven  be  witness,  if  he  sinned,'  thus  speaks  a  gallant  young, 
'  The  fault  was  in  Padilla's  eye,  that  o'er  him  magic  flung ; — 

16 


122  THE   PROCLAMATION   OF   KING   HENRY. 

4  Or  if  no  magic  be  her  blame,  so  heavenly  fair  is  she, 

The  wisest,  for  so  bright  a  dame,  might  well  a  sinner  be  ! 

Let  none  speak  ill  of  Pedro, — no  Roderick  hath  he  been  ; 

He  dearly  loved  fair  Spain,  although  't  is  true  he  slew  the  Queen. ' 

The  words  he  spake  they  all  might  hear,  yet  none  vouchsafe  reply, 
1  God  save  great  Henry — save  the  King — King  Henry  !'  is  the  cry  ; 
While  Pedro's  liegemen  turn  aside,  their  groans  are  in  your  ear, 
'  Whate'er  to  others  he  hath  been,  our  friend  lies  slaughtered  here  !' 

Nor  paltry  souls  are  wanting  among  King  Pedro's  band, 
That,  now  their  king  is  dead,  draw  near  to  kiss  his  murderer's  hand. 
The  false  cheek  clothes  it  in  a  smile,  and  laughs  the  hollow  eye, 
And  wags  the  traitor  tongue  the  while  with  flattery's  ready  lie. 

The  valor  of  the  King  that  is — the  justice  of  his  cause — 
The  blindness  and  the  tyrannies  of  him  the  King  that  was — 
All — all  are  doubled  in  their  speech,  yet  truth  enough  is  there 
To  sink  the  spirit  shivering  near,  in  darkness  of  despair. 

The  murder  of  the  Master,  the  tender  Infants'  doom, 

And  blessed  Blanche's  thread  of  life  snapped  short  in  dungeon's  gloom, 

With  tragedies  yet  unrevealed,  that  stained  the  King's  abode, 

By  lips  his  bounty  should  have  sealed,  are  blazoned  black  abroad. 

Whom  served  he  most  at  others'  cost,  most  loud  they  rend  the  sky, 
'  God  save  great  Henry — save  our  King — King  Henry  !'  is  the  cry. 
But  still,  amid  too  many  foes,  the  grief  is  in  your  ear 
Of  dead  King  Pedro's  faithful  few — '  Alas  !  our  lord  lies  here  !' 

But  others'  tears,  and  others'  groans,  what  are  they  matched  with  thine, 

Maria  de  Padilla — thou  fatal  concubine  ! 

Because  she  is  King  Henry's  slave,  the  lady  weepeth  sore, 

Because  she's  Pedro's  widowed  love,  alas  !  she  weepeth  more. 

'  O  Pedro  !  Pedro  !'  hear  her  cry — '  how  often  did  I  say 
That  wicked  counsel  and  weak  trust  would  haste  thy  life  away  !' 
She  stands  upon  her  turret-top,  she  looks  down  from  on  high, 
Where  mantled  in  his  bloody  cloak  she  sees  her  lover  lie. 


THE  PROCLAMATION   OF  KING  HENRY.  123 

Low  lies  King  Pedro  in  his  blood,  while  bending  down  ye  see 
Caitiffs  that  trembled  ere  he  spake,  crouched  at  his  murderer's  knee ; 
They  place  the  sceptre  in  his  hand,  and  on  his  head  the  crown, 
And  trumpets  clear  are  blown,  and  bells  are  merry  through  the  town. 

The  sun  shines  bright,  and  the  gay  rout  with  clamors  rend  the  sky, 
♦  God  save  great  Henry — save  the  King — King  Henry  !'  is  the  cry; 
But  the  pale  lady  weeps  above,  with  many  a  bitter  tear, 
Whate'er  he  was,  he  was  her  love,  and  he  lies  slaughtered  here  ! 

At  first,  in  silence  down  her  cheek  the  drops  of  sadness  roll, 
But  rage  and  anger  come  to  break  the  sorrow  of  her  soul ; 
The  triumph  of  her  haters — the  gladness  of  their  cries, 
Enkindle  flames  of  ire  and  scorn  within  her  tearful  eyes. 

In  her  hot  cheek  the  blood  mounts  high,  as  she  stands  gazing  down, 
Now  on  proud  Henry's  royal  state,  his  robe  and  golden  crown, — 
And  now  upon  the  trampled  cloak  that  hides  not  from  her  view 
The  slaughtered  Pedro's  marble  brow,  and  lips  of  livid  hue. 

With  furious  grief  she  twists  her  hands  among  her  long  black  hairs, 
And  all  from  off  her  lovely  brow  the  blameless  locks  she  tears  ; 
She  tears  the  ringlets  from  her  front,  and  scatters  all  the  pearls 
King  Pedro's  hand  had  planted  among  the  raven  curls  : 

'  Stop,  caitiff  tongues  !' — they  hear  her  not — *  King  Pedro's  love  am  I !' 
They  heed  her  not — •  God  save  the  King — great  Henry  !'  still  they  cry. 
She  rends  her  hair,  she  wrings  her  hands,  but  none  to  help  is  near, 
'  God  look  in  vengeance  on  their  deed,  my  lord  lies  murdered  here  !' 

Away  she  flings  her  garments,  her  broidered  veil  and  vest, 
As  if  they  should  behold  her  love  within  her  lovely  breast, 
As  if  to  call  upon  her  foes  the  constant  heart  to  see, 
Where  Pedro's  form  is  still  enshrined,  and  evermore  shall  be. 

But  none  on  fair  Maria  looks,  by  none  her  breast  is  seen, — 
Save  angry  Heaven  remembering  well  the  murder  of  the  Queen, 
The  wounds  of  jealous  harlot  rage,  which  virgin  blood  must  stanch, 
And  all  the  scorn  that  mingled  in  the  bitter  cup  of  Blanche. 


124 


THE   PROCLAMATION   OF  KING  HENRY. 


The  utter  coldness  of  neglect  that  haughty  spirit  stings, 

As  if  a  thousand  fiends  were  there,  with  all  their  flapping  wings  J 

She  wraps  the  veil  about  her  head,  as  if  't  were  all  a  dream — 

The  love — the  murder — and  the  wrath — and  that  rebellious  scream  ; 

For  still  there's  shouting  on  the  plain,  and  spurring  far  and  nigh, 
'  God  save  the  King — Amen  !  amen  ! — King  Henry  P  is  the  cry ; 
While  Pedro  all  alone  is  left  upon  his  bloody  bier, 
Not  one  remains  to  cry  to  God,  '  Our  lord  lies  murdered  here  !' 


r* 


STije  Hortr  of  JSutraflo. 


The  incident  to  which  the  following  ballad  relates,  is  supposed  to  have  occurred  on 
the  famous  field  of  Aljubarrota,  where  King  Juan  the  First  of  Castile  was  defeated  by 
the  Portuguese.  The  king,  who  was  at  the  time  in  a  feeble  state  of  health,  exposed  him- 
self very  much  during  the  action  ;  and  being  wounded,  had  great  difficulty  in  making  his 
escape.     The  battle  was  fought  A.  D.  1385. 


'  Your  horse  is  faint,  my  King — my  lord  !  your  gallant  horse  is  sick, — 
His  limbs  are  torn,  his  breast  is  gored,  on  his  eye  the  film  is  thick  ; 
Mount,  mount  on  mine,  oh,  mount  apace,  I  pray  thee,  mount  and  fly  ! 
Or  in  my  arms  I  '11  lift  your  grace, — their  trampling  hoofs  are  nigh  ! 

'  My  King — my  King  !  you  're  wounded  sore, — the  blood  runs  from  your  feet ; 
But  only  lay  a  hand  before,  and  I  '11  lift  you  to  your  seat : 
Mount,  Juan,  for  they  gather  fast !  I  hear  their  coming  cry  ! 
Mount,  mount,  and  ride  for  jeopardy — I  '11  save  you  though  I  die  ! 

1  Stand,  noble  steed  !  this  hour  of  need — be  gentle  as  a  lamb  : 
I  '11  kiss  the  foam  from  off  thy  mouth — thy  master  dear  I  am  ! 
Mount,  Juan,  mount !  whate'er  betide,  away  the  bridle  fling, 
And  plunge  the  rowels  in  his  side  ! — My  horse  shall  save  my  King  ! 

•  Nay,  never  speak  ;  my  sires,  Lord  King,  received  their  land  from  yours, 
And  joyfully  their  blood  shall  spring,  so  be  it  thine  secures  : 
If  I  should  fly,  and  thou,  my  King,  be  found  among  the  dead, 
How  could  I  stand  'mong  gentlemen,  such  scorn  on  my  gray  head  1 

1  Castile's  proud  dames  shall  never  point  the  finger  of  disdain, 

And  say  there's  one  that  ran  away  when  our  good  lords  were  slain  ! — 

I  leave  Diego  in  your  care, — you  '11  fill  his  father's  place  : 

Strike,  strike  the  spur,  and  never  spare — God's  blessing  on  your  grace  !' 


&$z  Ittttfl  of  ^rraflou. 


The  following  little  ballad  represents  the  supposed  feelings  of  Ferdinand, 
King  of  Arragon,  on  surveying  Naples,  after  he  had  at  last  obtained  posses- 
sion of  that  city,  and  driven  Rene  of  Anjou  from  the  south  of  Italy.  '  The 
King  of  Arragon,'  says  Mariana,  '  entered  Naples  as  victor,  on  the  morning 
of  Sunday,  the  second  of  June,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  one  thousand,  four 
hundred,  and  forty-two.' 

The  brother,  whose  death  is  represented  as  saddening  the  King's  triumph, 
was  Don  Pedro  of  Arragon,  who  was  killed  '  by  the  fourth  rebound  of  a  can- 
non-ball,' very  soon  after  the  commencement  of  the  siege  of  Naples.  '  When 
the  King  heard  of  these  woful  tidings,'  says  Mariana,  '  he  hastened  to  the 
place  where  the  body  had  been  laid,  and  kissing  the  breast  of  the  dead  man, 
said,  Alas,  my  brother,  what  different  things  had  I  expected  of  thee  !  God 
help  thy  soul !  And  with  that  he  wept  and  groaned,  and  then  turning  to  his 
attendants,  Alas  !  said  he,  my  comrades,  we  have  lost  this  day  the  flower  of 
all  our  chivalry  !  Don  Pedro  died  in  the  bloom  of  his  youth,  being  just 
twenty-seven  years  old,  and  having  never  been  married.  He  had  been  in 
many  wars,  and  in  all  of  them  he  had  won  honor.' — (Mariana,  Book  xxi., 
Chap.  13.) 

Who  was  the  favorite  boy  (Pagezico,)  whose  death  the  King  also  laments 
in  the  ballad,  I  have  not  been  able  to  find. 


Cfje  Itinfl  of  ^rrajjon. 


One  day  the  King  of  Arragon,  from  the  old  citadel, 

Looked  down  upon  the  sea  of  Spain,  as  the  billows  rose  and  fell ; 

He  looked  on  ship  and  galley,  some  coming  and  some  going, 

With  all  their  prize  of  merchandise,  and  all  their  streamers  flowing. 

Some  to  Castile  were  sailing,  and  some  to  Barbary, — 
And  then  he  looked  on  Naples,  that  great  city  of  the  sea  : 
•  O  city  !'  saith  the  King,  '  how  great  hath  been  thy  cost, 
For  thee,  I  twenty  years — my  fairest  years — have  lost ! 


'  By  thee,  I  have  lost  a  brother  ; — never  Hector  was  more  brave  ; 
High  cavaliers  have  dropped  their  tears  upon  my  brother's  grave  :- 
Much  treasure  hast  thou  cost  me,  and  a  little  boy  beside 
(Alas  !  thou  woful  city  !)  for  whom  I  would  have  died.' 


&ije  1Joto  of  Jfcetruaiu 


The  marriage  of  Ferdinand  the  Catholic,  and  Donna  Isabella,  having  united  the  forces 
of  Arragon  and  Castile,  the  total  ruin  of  the  Moorish  power  in  Spain  could  no  longer  be 
deferred.  The  last  considerable  fragment  of  their  once  mighty  possessions  in  the  Penin- 
sula, was  Granada ;  but  the  fate  of  Malaga  gave  warning  of  its  inevitable  fall,  while  in- 
ternal dissensions,  and  the  weakness  of  the  reigning  prince^  hastened  and  facilitated  that 
great  object  of  Ferdinand's  ambition. 

The  following  is  aversion  of  certain  parts  of  two  ballads;  indeed,  the  Moor  Reduan  is 
the  hero  of  a  great  many  more.  The  subject  is,  as  the  reader  will  perceive,  the  rash  vow 
and  tragical  end  of  a  young  and  gallant  soldier,  allied,  as  it  would  appear,  to  the  blood  of 
the  last  Moorish  King  of  Granada,  Boabdil, — or,  as  he  is  more  generally  called  by  the 
Spanish  writers,  El  Rey  Chiquito, — i.  e. — the  Little  King. 


Thus  said,  before  his  lords,  the  King  to  Reduan, — 
1  'T  is  easy  to  get  words, — deeds  get  we  as  we  can  : 
Rememberest  thou  the  feast  at  which  I  heard  thee  saying, 
'T  were  easy  in  one  night  to  make  me  Lord  of  Jaen  ? 

•  Well,  in  my  mind,  I  hold  the  valiant  vow  was  said  ; 
Fulfil  it,  boy  !  and  gold  shall  shower  upon  thy  head  ; 
But  bid  a  long  farewell,  if  now  thou  shrink  from  doing, 
To  bower  and  bonnibell,  thy  feasting,  and  thy  wooing  !' 

'  I  have  forgot  the  oath,  if  such  I  e'er  did  plight,— 

But  needs  there  plighted  troth  to  make  a  soldier  fight  1 

A  thousand  sabres  bring, — we  '11  see  how  we  may  thrive  !' 

4  One  thousand  !'  quoth  the  King  ;  '  I  trow  thou  shalt  have  five  !' 

They  passed  the  Elvira  gate,  with  banners  all  displayed, 
They  passed  in  mickle  state,  a  noble  cavalcade  ; 
What  proud  and  pawing  horses,  what  comely  cavaliers, 
What  bravery  of  targets,  what  glittering  of  spears  ! 


THE   VOW   OF  REDUAN. 

What  caftans  blue  and  scarlet, — what  turbans  pleached  of  green  ; 
What  waving  of  their  crescents  and  plumages  between  ; 
What  buskins  and  what  stirrups, — what  rowels  chased  in  gold  ! 
What  handsome  gentlemen, — what  buoyant  hearts  and  bold  ! 

In  midst,  above  them  all,  rides  he  who  rules  the  band  ; 
Yon  feather  white  and  tall  is  the  token  of  command  : 
He  looks  to  the  Alhambra,  whence  bends  his  mother  down  ; 
•  Now  Alia  save  my  boy,  and  merciful  Mahoun  !' — 

But 't  was  another  sight — when  Reduan  drew  near 
To  look  upon  the  height  where  Jaen's  towers  appear  ; 
The  fosse  was  wide  and  deep,  the  walls  both  tall  and  strong, 
And  keep  was  matched  with  keep  the  battlements  along. 

It  was  a  heavy  sight, — but  most  for  Reduan  ; 
He  sighed,  as  well  he  might,  ere  thus  his  speech  began  : 
1  O  Jaen  !  had  I  known  how  high  thy  bulwarks  stand, 
My  tongue  had  not  outgone  the  prowess  of  my  hand. 

'  But  since,  in  hasty  cheer,  I  did  my  promise  plight, 
(What  well  might  cost  a  year)  to  win  thee  in  a  night, — 
The  pledge  demands  the  paying.     I  would  my  soldiers  brave 
Were  half  as  sure  of  Jaen,  as  I  am  of  my  grave  ! 

1  My  penitence  comes  late, — my  death  lags  not  behind  ; 

I  yield  me  up  to  fate,  since  hope  I  may  not  find  !' — 

With  that  he  turned  him  round  ; — '  Now,  blow  your  trumpets  high  !' 

But  every  spearman  frowned,  and  dark  was  every  eye. 

But  when  he  was  aware  that  they  would  fain  retreat, 
He  spurred  his  bright  bay  mare, — I  wot  her  pace  was  fleet ; 
He  rides  beneath  the  walls,  and  shakes  aloof  his  lance, 
And  to  the  Christians  calls,  if  any  will  advance  ! 

With  that  an  arrow  flew  from  o'er  the  battlement, — 
Young  Reduan  it  slew,  sheer  through  the  breast  it  went ! 
He  fell  upon  the  green, — •  Farewell,  my  gallant  bay  !' — 
Right  soon,  when  this  was  seen,  broke  all  the  Moor  array. 


Eije  jFltfl^t  from  <£ranatra. 

1492. 


The  following  ballad  describes  the  final  departure  of  the  weak  and  unfortunate  Boabdil 
from  Granada.  In  point  of  fact,  the  Moorish  king  came  out  and  received  Ferdinand  and 
Isabella  in  great  form  and  pomp,  at  the  gates  of  his  lost  city,  presenting  them  with  the 
keys  on  a  cushion,  and  in  abject  terms  entreating  their  protection  for  his  person. 

The  valley  of  Purchena,  in  Murcia,  was  assigned  to  him  for  his  place  of  residence,  and 
a  handsome  revenue  provided  for  the  maintenance  of  him  and  his  family ;  but,  after  a 
little  while,  '  not  having  resolution'  (as  Mariana  expresses  it)  '  to  endure  a  private  life  in 
the  country  where  he  had  so  long  reigned  a  king,'  he  went  over  to  Barbary. 

The  entrance  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  into  Granada  took  place  on  Friday,  the  6th 
of  January,  1492. 


There  was  crying  in  Granada  when  the  sun  was  going  down, — 
Some  calling  on  the  Trinity — some  calling  on  Mahoun  ! 
Here  passed  away  the  Koran, — there  in  the  Cross  was  borne, — 
And  here  was  heard  the  Christian  bell, — and  there  the  Moorish  horn  ; 

Te  Deum  Laudamus  !  was  up  the  Alcala  sung : 
Down  from  the  Alhambra's  minarets  were  all  the  crescents  flung ; 
The  arms  thereon  of  Arragon  they  with  Castile's  display  ; 
One  king  comes  in  in  triumph, — one  weeping  goes  away  ! 

Thus  cried  the  weeper,  while  his  hands  his  old  white  beard  did  tear, 
'  Farewell,  farewell,  Granada !  thou  city  without  peer  ! 
Woe-,  woe,  thou  pride  of  Heathendom  !   seven  hundred  years  and  more 
Have  gone  since  first  the  faithful  thy  royal  sceptre  bore  ! 

'  Thou  wert  the  happy  mother  of  an  high  renowned  race  ; 
Within  thee  dwelt  a  haughty  line  that  now  go  from  their  place  ; 
Within  thee  fearless  knights  did  dwell,  who  fought  with  mickle  glee — 
The  enemies  of  proud  Castile — the  bane  of  Christientie  ! 


132  THE   FLIGHT   FKOM   GRANADA. 

'  The  mother  of  fair  dames  wert  thou,  of  truth  and  beauty  rare, 
Into  whose  arms  did  courteous  knights  for  solace  sweet  repair ; 
For  whose  dear  sakes  the  gallants  of  Afric  made  display 
Of  might  in  joust  and  battle  on  many  a  bloody  day  ! 

1  Here,  gallants  held  it  little  thing  for  ladies'  sake  to  die, 
Or  for  the  Prophet's  honor,  and  pride  of  Soldanry  ; — 

iFor  here  did  valor  flourish,  and  deeds  of  warlike  might 
Ennobled  lordly  palaces,  in  which  was  our  delight 

'  The  gardens  of  thy  Vega,  its  fields  and  blooming  bowers,— 
Woe,  woe  !  I  see  their  beauty  gone,  and  scattered  all  their  flowers  ! 
No  reverence  can  he  claim — the  king  that  such  a  land  hath  lost, — 
On  charger  never  can  he  ride,  nor  be  heard  among  the  host ; 
But  in  some  dark  and  dismal  place,  where  none  his  face  may  see, 
There,  weeping  and  lamenting,  alone  that  king  should  be.'— 


Thus  spake  Granada's  King  as  he  was  riding  to  the  sea, 

About  to  cross  Gibraltar's  Strait  away  to  Barbary  : 

Thus  he  in  heaviness  of  soul  unto  his  Queen  did  cry.— 

(He  had  stopped  and  ta'en  her  in  his  arms,  for  together  they  did  fly.) 

•  Unhappy  King  !  whose  craven  soul  can  brook'  (she  'gan  reply) 
'  To  leave  behind  Granada, — who  hast  not  heart  to  die  ! — 
Now  for  the  love  I  bore  thy  youth,  thee  gladly  could  I  slay  ! 
For  what  is  life  to  leave  when  such  a  crown  is  cast  away  I* 


&i)e  J&tati)  of  Hon  &lon?o  of  &fltttlar* 


The  Catholic  zeal  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  was  gratified  by  the  external 
conversion  at  least  of  a  great  part  of  the  Moors  of  Granada  ;  but  the  inhabit- 
ants of  the  Sierra  of  Alpuxarra,  a  ridge  of  mountainous  territory  at  no  great 
distance  from  that  city,  resisted  every  argument  of  the  priests  who  were  sent 
among  them,  so  that  the  royal  order  for  Baptism  was  at  length  enforced  by 
arms. 

Those  Moorish  mountaineers  resisted  for  a  time  in  several  of  their  strong- 
holds ;  but  were  at  last  subdued,  and  in  great  part  extirpated.  Among  many 
severe  losses  sustained  by  the  Spanish  forces  in  the  course  of  this  hill  warfare, 
none  was  more  grievous  than  that  recorded  in  the  following  ballad.  Don 
Alonzo  of  Aguilar,  was  the  eldest  brother  of  that  Gonsalvo  Hernandez  y 
Cordova  of  Aguilar,  who  became  so  illustrious  as  to  acquire  the  name  of  the 
Great  Captain. 

The  circumstances  of  Don  Alonzo's  death  are  described  somewhat  differ- 
ently by  the  historians.  (See  in  particular,  Mariana,  Book  xxvii.,  Chap.  6, 
where  no  mention  is  made  of  the  Moors  throwing  down  stones  on  him  and 
his  party,  as  in  the  ballad.)  This  tragic  story  has  been  rendered  familiar  to 
all  English  readers  by  the  Bishop  of  Dromore's  exquisite  version  of  '  Rio 
Verde,  Rio  Verde  !' 


Wfyz  Beatij  of  Bou  gUoitfo  ni  ^fltulat. 


Fernando,  King  of  Arragon,  before  Granada  lies, 
With  dukes  and  barons  many  a  one,  and  champions  of  emprise  ; 
With  all  the  captains  of  Castile  that  serve  his  lady's  crown, 
He  drives  Boabdil  from  his  gates,  and  plucks  the  crescent  down. 

The  cross  is  reared  upon  the  towers,  for  our  Redeemer's  sake  ! 

The  king  assembles  all  his  powers,  his  triumph  to  partake  ; 

Yet  at  the  royal  banquet,  there  's  trouble  in  his  eye  : — 

'  Now  speak  thy  wish,  it  shall  be  done,  great  King  !'  the  lordlings  cry. 

Then  spake  Fernando, — '  Hear,  grandees  !  which  of  ye  all  will  go, 
And  give  my  banner  in  the  breeze  of  Alpuxar  to  blow  ! 
Those  heights  along,  the  Moors  are  strong  ;  now  who,  by  dawn  of  day, 
Will  plant  the  cross  their  cliffs  among,  and  drive  the  dogs  away  V 

Then  champion  on  champion  high,  and  count  on  count  doth  look  ; 
And  faltering  is  the  tongue  of  lord,  and  pale  the  cheek  of  duke  ; 
Till  starts  up  brave  Alonzo,  the  knight  of  Aguilar, 
The  lowmost  at  the  royal  board,  but  foremost  still  in  war. 

And  thus  he  speaks  : — '  I  pray,  my  lord,  that  none  but  I  may  go  ; 
For  I  made  promise  to  the  Queen,  your  consort,  long  ago, 
That  ere  the  war  should  have  an  end,  I,  for  her  royal  charms 
And  for  my  duty  to  her  grace,  would  show  some  feat  of  arms  !' 

Much  joyed  the  King  these  words  to  hear, — he  bids  Alonzo  speed  ; 
And  long  before  their  revel 's  o'er  the  knight  is  on  his  steed  ; 
Alonzo  's  on  his  milk-white  steed,  with  horsemen  in  his  train, 
A  thousand  horse,  a  chosen  band,  ere  dawn  the  hills  to  gain. 


THE  DEATH  OF  DON  ALONZO  OF  AGUILAR. 


135 


They  ride  along  the  darkling  ways,  they  gallop  all  the  night ; 

They  reach  Neveda  ere  the  cock  hath  harbingered  the  light ; 

But  ere  they  've  climbed  that  steep  ravine,  the  east  is  glowing  red, 

And  the  Moors  their  lances  bright  have  seen,  and  Christian  banners  spread. 

Beyond  the  sands,  between  the  rocks,  where  the  old  cork-trees  grow, 
The  path  is  rough,  and  mounted  men  must  singly  march  and  slow  ; 
There,  o'er  the  path,  the  heathen  range  their  ambuscado's  line, 
High  up  they  wait  for  Aguilar,  as  the  day  begins  to  shine. 

There,  nought  avails  the  eagle-eye,  the  guardian  of  Castile, 

The  eye  of  wisdom,  nor  the  heart  that  fear  might  never  feel, 

The  arm  of  strength,  that  wielded  well  the  strong  mace  in  the  fray, 

Nor  the  broad  plate,  from  whence  the  edge  of  falchion  glanced  away. 

Not  knightly  valor  there  avails,  nor  skill  of  horse  and  spear  ; 
For  rock  on  rock  comes  rumbling  down  from  cliff  and  cavern  drear  ; 
Down — down  like  driving  hail  they  come,  and  horse  and  horsemen  die, 
Like  cattle  whose  despair  is  dumb  when  the  fierce  lightnings  fly. 

Alonzo,  with  a  handful  more,  escapes  into  the  field, 
There,  like  a  lion,  stands  at  bay,  in  vain  besought  to  yield  ; 
A  thousand  foes  around  are  seen,  but  none  draws  near  to  fight ; 
Afar,  with  bolt  and  javelin,  they  pierce  the  steadfast  knight. 


A  hundred  and  a  hundred  darts  are  hissing  round  his  head  ; 
Had  Aguilar  a  thousand  hearts,  their  blood  had  all  been  shed  ; 
Faint,  and  more  faint,  he  staggers  upon  the  slippery  sod, 
At  last  his  back  is  to  the  earth,  he  gives  his  soul  to  God  ! 

With  that  the  Moors  plucked  up  their  hearts  to  gaze  upon  his  face, 
And  caitiffs  mangled  where  he  lay  the  scourge  of  Afric's  race. 
To  woody  Oxijera  then  the  gallant  corpse  they  drew, 
And  there,  upon  the  village-green  they  laid  him  out  to  view. 

Upon  the  village-green  he  lay,  as  the  moon  was  shining  clear, 

And  all  the  village-damsels  to  look  on  him  drew  near, 

They  stood  around  him  all  a-gaze  beside  the  big  oak-tree, 

And  much  his  beauty  they  did  praise,  though  mangled  sore  was  he. 


136  THE  DEATH  OF  DON  ALONZO  OF  AGUILAR. 

Now,  so  it  fell,  a  Christian  dame,  that  knew  Alonzo  well, 
Not  far  from  Oxijera  did  as  a  captive  dwell, 
And  hearing  all  the  marvels,  across  the  woods  came  she, 
To  look  upon  this  Christian  corpse,  and  wash  it  decently. 

She  looked  upon  him,  and  she  knew  the  face  of  Aguilar, 
Although  his  beauty  was  disgraced  with  many  a  ghastly  scar  ; 
She  knew  him,  and  she  cursed  the  dogs  that  pierced  him  from  afar, 
And  mangled  him  when  he  was  slain — the  Moors  of  Alpuxar. 

The  Moorish  maidens,  while  she  spake,  around  her  silence  kept, 
But  her  master  dragged  the  dame  away, — then  loud  and  long  they  wept ; 
They  washed  the  blood,  with  many  a  tear,  from  dint  of  dart  and  arrow, 
And  buried  him  near  the  waters  clear  of  the  brook  of  Alpuxarra. 


&\)t  13epactttte  of  BCttjt  Sefcaattau. 


The  reader  is  acquainted  with  the  melancholy  story  of  Sebastian,  King  of  Portugal. 
It  was  in  1578,  that  his  unfortunate  expedition  and  death  took  place. 

The  following  is  a  version  of  one  of  the  Spanish  ballads,  founded  on  the  history  of 
Sebastian.  There  is  anather,  which  describes  his  death,  almost  in  the  words  of  a  ballad 
already  translated,  concerning  King  Juan  I.  of  Castile. 


It  was  a  Lusitanian  lady,  and  she  was  lofty  in  degree, 
Was  fairer  none,  nor  nobler,  in  all  the  realm  than  she  ; 
I  saw  her  that  her  eyes  were  red,  as,  from  her  balcony, 
They  wandered  o'er  the  crowded  shore  and  the  resplendent  sea. 

Gorgeous  and  gay,  in  Lisbon's  Bay,  with  streamers  flaunting  wide, 

Upon  the  gleaming  waters  Sebastian's  galleys  ride  ; 

His  valorous  armada  (was  never  nobler  sight !) 

Hath  young  Sebastian  marshalled  against  the  Moorish  might. 

The  breeze  comes  forth  from  the  clear  north,  a  gallant  breeze  there  blows  ; 
Their  sails  they  lift,  then  out  they  drift,  and  first  Sebastian  goes. 
•  May  none  withstand  Sebastian's  hand, — God  shield  my  King  !'  she  said  ; 
Yet  pale  was  that  fair  lady's  cheek, — her  weeping  eyes  were  red. 


She  looks  on  all  the  parting  host,  in  all  its  pomp  arrayed, 
Each  pennon  on  the  wind  is  tost,  each  cognizance  displayed  ; 
Each  lordly  galley  flings  abroad,  above  its  armed  prow, 
The  banner  of  the  Cross  of  God,  upon  the  breeze  to  flow. 

But  one  there  is,  whose  banner,  above  the  Cross  divine, 
A  scarf  upholds,  with  azure  folds,  of  love  and  faith  the  sign  ; 
Upon  that  galley's  stern  ye  see  a  peerless  warrior  stand, 
Though  first  he  goes,  still  back  he  throws  his  eye  upon  the  land 


138  THE   DEPAETUBE   OF   KING   SEBASTIAN. 

Albeit  through  tears  she  looks,  yet  well  may  she  that  form  descry, — 

Was  never  seen  a  vassal  mien  so  noble  and  so  high  ; 

Albeit  the  lady's  cheek  was  pale,  albeit  her  eyes  were  red, 

1  May  none  withstand  my  true-love's  hand  I  God  bless  my  Knight !'  she  said. 

There  are  a  thousand  barons,  all  harnessed  cap-a-pee, 

With  helm  and  spear  that  glitter  clear  above  the  dark-green  sea  ; 

No  lack  of  gold  or  silver,  to  stamp  each  proud  device 

On  shield  or  surcoat, — nor  of  chains  and  jewellery  of  price. 

The  seamen's  cheers  the  lady  hears,  and  mingling  voices  come 

From  every  deck,  of  glad  rebeck,  of  trumpet,  and  of  drum ; — 

•  Who  dare  withstand  Sebastian's  hand  I — what  Moor  his  gage  may  fling 

At  young  Sebastian's  feet !'  she  said. — '  The  Lord  hath  blessed  my  King.' 


It  is  sometimes  very  difficult  to  determine  which  of  the  Moorish  Ballads 
ought  to  be  included  in  the  Historical,  which  in  the  Romantic  class ;  and 
for  this  reason,  the  following  five  specimens  are  placed  by  themselves. 
Several  Ballads,  decidedly  of  Moorish  origin,  such  as  Reduan's  Vow, 
The  Flight  trom  Granada,  &c,  have  been  printed  in  the  preceding 
Section. 


&i)e  EttU=ftfli)t  of  <S?ajttl. 


Gazul  is  the  name  of  one  of  the  Moorish  heroes  who  figure  in  the  "  Historia  de  las 
Guerras  Civiles  de  Granada."  The  following  ballad  is  one  of  very  many  in  which  the 
dexterity  of  the  Moorish  cavaliers  in  the  Bull-fight  is  described.  The  reader  will  observe, 
that  the  shape,  activity,  and  resolution  of  the  unhappy  animal,  destined  to  furnish  the 
amusement  of  the  spectators,  are  enlarged  upon, — just  as  the  qualities  of  a  modern  race- 
horse might  be  among  ourselves  :  nor  is  the  bull  without  his  name.  The  day  of  the  Bap- 
tist is  a  festival  among  the  Mussulmans,  as  well  as  among  Christians. 


King  Almanzor  of  Granada,  he  hath  bid  the  trumpet  sound, 

He  hath  summoned  all  the  Moorish  lords,  from  the  hills  and  plains  around  ; 

From  Vega  and  Sierra,  from  Betis  and  Xenil, 

They  have  come  with  helm  and  cuirass  of  gold  and  twisted  steel. 

'T  is  the  holy  Baptist's  feast  they  hold  in  royalty  and  state, 
And  they  have  closed  the  spacious  lists,  beside  the  Alhambra's  gate  ; 
In  gowns  of  black  with  silver  laced,  within  the  tented  ring, 
Eight  Moors  to  fight  the  bull  are  placed,  in  presence  of  the  King. 

Eight  Moorish  lords  of  valor  tried,  with  stalwart  arm  and  true, 

The  onset  of  the  beasts  abide,  as  they  come  rushing  through  ; 

The  deeds  they  've  done,  the  spoils  they  've  won,  fill  all  with  hope  and  trust, 

Yet,  ere  high  in  heaven  appears  the  sun,  they  all  have  bit  the  dust ! 

Then  sounds  the  trumpet  clearly,  then  clangs  the  loud  tambour, 
Make  room,  make  room  for  Gazul ! — throw  wide,  throw  wide  the  door  ! 
Blow,  blow  the  trumpet  clearer  still !  more  loudly  strike  the  drum  ! 
The  Alcayde  of  Algava  to  fight  the  bull  doth  come. 


THE   BULL-FIGHT   OF   GAZUL.  143 

And  first  before  the  King  he  passed,  with  reverence  stooping  low, 
And  next  he  bowed  him  to  the  Queen,  and  the  Infantas  all  a-rowe  ; 
Then  to  his  lady's  grace  he  turned,  and  she  to  him  did  throw 
A  scarf  from  out  her  balcony  was  whiter  than  the  snow. 

With  the  life-blood  of  the  slaughtered  lords  all  slippery  is  the  sand, 
Yet  proudly  in  the  centre  hath  Gazul  ta'en  his  stand  ; 
And  ladies  look  with  heaving  breast,  and  lords  with  anxious  eye, 
But  firmly  he  extends  his  arm, — his  look  is  calm  and  high. 

Three  bulls  against  the  knight  are  loosed,  and  two  come  roaring  on, 
He  rises  high  in  stirrup,  forth  stretching  his  rejon  ; 
Each  furious  beast  upon  the  breast  he  deals  him  such  a  blow, 
He  blindly  totters  and  gives  back  across  the  sand  to  go. 

*  Turn,  Gazul — turn  !'  the  people  cry  ;  the  third  comes  up  behind, 
Low  to  the  sand  his  head  holds  he,  his  nostrils  snuff  the  wind  ; — 
The  mountaineers  that  lead  the  steers  without  stand  whispering  low, 
'  Now  thinks  this  proud  Alcayde  to  stun  Harpado  so  V 

From  Guadiana  comes  he  not,  he  comes  not  from  Xenil, 

From  Gaudalarif  of  the  plain,  or  Barves  of  the  hill ; 

But  where  from  out  the  forest  burst  Xarama's  waters  clear, 

Beneath  the  oak-trees  was  he  nursed, — this  proud  and  stately  steer. 

Dark  is  his  hide  on  either  side,  but  the  blood  within  doth  boil, 
And  the  dun  hide  glows,  as  if  on  fire,  as  he  paws  to  the  turmoil. 
His  eyes  are  jet,  and  they  are  set  in  crystal  rings  of  snow  ; 
But  now  they  stare  with  one  red  glare  of  brass  upon  the  foe. 

Upon  the  forehead  of  the  bull  the  horns  stand  close  and  near, 
From  out  the  broad  and  wrinkled  skull  like  daggers  they  appear ; 
His  neck  is  massy,  like  the  trunk  of  some  old  knotted  tree, 
Whereon  the  monster's  shagged  mane,  like  billows  curled,  ye  see. 

His  legs  are  short,  his  hams  are  thick,  his  hoofs  are  black  as  night, 
Like  a  strong  flail  he  holds  his  tail  in  fierceness  of  his  might ; 
Like  something  molten  out  of  iron,  or  hewn  from  forth  the  rock, 
Harpado  of  Xarama  stands,  to  bide  the  Alcayde's  shock. 


Now  stops  the  drum ;  close,  close  they  come ;  thrice  meet,  and  thrice  give  back ; 
The  white  foam  of  Harpado  lies  on  the  charger's  breast  of  black, — 
The  white  foam  of  the  charger  on  Harpado's  front  of  dun  ; — 
Once  more  advance  upon  his  lance— once  more,  thou  fearless  one  ! 

Once  more,  once  more  ! — in  dust  and  gore  to  ruin  must  thou  reel ! — 
In  vain,  in  vain  thou  tearest  the  sand  with  furious  heel ! — 
In  vain,  in  vain,  thou  noble  beast ! — I  see,  I  see  thee  stagger, 
Now  keen  and  cold  thy  neck  must  hold  the  stern  Alcayde's  dagger  ! 


They  have  slipped  a  noose  around  his  feet,  six  horses  are  brought  in, 
And  away  they  drag  Harpado  with  a  loud  and  joyful  din. 
Now  stoop  thee,  lady,  from  thy  stand,  and  the  ring  of  price  bestow 
Upon  Gazul  of  Algava,  that  hath  laid  Harpado  low  ! 


&fje  ZtQvVa  JBrttre. 


The  reader  cannot  need  to  be  reminded  of  the  fatal  effects  which  were  produced  by 
the  feuds  subsisting  between  the  two  great  families,  or  rather  races,  of  the  Zegris  and 
the  Abencerrages  of  Granada.     The  following  ballad  is  also  from  the  '  Guerras  Civiles. 


Of  all  the  blood  of  Zegri,  the  chief  is  Lisaro, 
To  wield  rejon  like  him  is  none,  or  javelin  to  throw  ; 
From  the  place  of  his  dominion,  he  ere  the  dawn  doth  go, 
|    From  Alcala  de  Henares,  he  rides  in  weed  of  woe. 

|    He  rides  not  now  as  he  was  wont,  when  ye  have  seen  him  speed 
>    To  the  field  of  gay  Toledo,  to  fling  his  lusty  reed  ; 

No  gambeson  of  silk  is  on,  nor  rich  embroidery 

Of  gold- wrought  robe  or  turban,  nor  jewelled  tahali. 

No  amethyst  nor  garnet  is  shining  on  his  brow, 
No  crimson  sleeve,  which  damsels  weave  at  Tunis,  decks  him  now  ; 
The  belt  is  black,  the  hilt  is  dim,  but  the  sheathed  blade  is  bright ; 
They  have  housened  his  barb  in  a  murky  garb,  but  yet  her  hoofs  are  light 

Four  horsemen  good,  of  the  Zegri  blood,  with  Lisaro  go  out ; 

No  flashing  spear  may  tell  them  near,  but  yet  their  shafts  are  stout ; 

In  darkness  and  in  swiftness  rides  every  armed  knight, — 

The  foam  on  the  rein  ye  may  see  it  plain,  but  nothing  else  is  white. 

Young  Lisaro,  as  on  they  go,  his  bonnet  doffeth  he, 
Between  its  folds  a  sprig  it  holds  of  a  dark  and  glossy  tree  ; 
That  sprig  of  bay,  were  it  away,  right  heavy  heart  had  he, — 
Fair  Zayda  to  her  Zegri  gave  that  token  privily. 


146  THE   ZEGRl's   BRIDE. 

And  ever  as  they  rode,  he  looked  upon  his  lady's  boon. 
•  God  knows,'  quoth  he,  '  what  fate  may  be  ! — I  may  be  slaughtered  soon  ; 
Thou  still  art  mine,  though  scarce  the  sign  of  hope  that  bloomed  whilere, 
But  in  my  grave  I  yet  shall  have  my  Zayda's  token  dear.' 

Young  Lisaro  was  musing  so,  when  onwards  on  the  path, 
He  well  could  see  them  riding  slow ;  then  pricked  he  in  his  wrath. 
The  raging  sire,  the  kinsmen  of  Zayda's  hateful  house, 
Fought  well  that  day,  yet  in  the  fray  the  Zegri  won  his  spouse. 


2C|e  Jffrflral  of  &ntraila. 


The  following  ballad  has  been  often  imitated  by  modern  poets,  both  in  Spain  and  in 

Germany : — 

'  Pon  te  a  las  rejas  azules,  dexa  la  manga  que  labras, 

Melancholica  Xarifa,  veras  al  galan  Andalla,'  &c. 


'  Rise  up,  rise  up,  Xarifa  !  lay  the  golden  cushion  down  ; 

Rise  up,  come  to  the  window,  and  gaze  with  all  the  town ! 

From  gay  guitar  and  violin  the  silver  notes  are  flowing, 

And  the  lovely  lute  doth  speak  between  the  trumpet's  lordly  blowing, 

And  banners  bright  from  lattice  light  are  waving  every  where, 

And  the  tall  tall  plume  of  our  cousin's  bridegroom  floats  proudly  in  the  air : 

Rise  up,  rise  up,  Xarifa  !  lay  the  golden  cushion  down  ; 

Rise  up,  come  to  the  window,  and  gaze  with  all  the  town  ! 

Arise,  arise,  Xarifa !  I  see  Andalla's  face, — 
He  bends  him  to  the  people  with  a  calm  and  princely  grace  ; 
Through  all  the  land  of  Xeres  and  banks  of  Guadalquiver 
Rode  forth  bridegroom  so  brave  as  he,  so  brave  and  lovely  never. 
Yon  tall  plume  waving  o'er  his  brow,  of  purple  mixed  with  white, 
I  guess  'twas  wreathed  by  Zara,  whom  he  will  wed  to-night ; 
Rise  up,  rise  up,  Xarifa  !  lay  the  golden  cushion  down  ; 
Rise  up,  come  to  the  window,  and  gaze  with  all  the  town  ! 

'  What  aileth  thee,  Xarifa — what  makes  thine  eyes  look  down  1 
Why  stay  ye  from  the  window  far,  nor  gaze  with  all  the  town  ? 
I've  heard  you  say  on  many  a  day,  and  sure  you  said  the  truth, 
Andalla  rides  without  a  peer,  among  all  Granada's  youth. 


148  THE   BRIDAL   OF   ANDALLA. 

Without  a  peer  he  rideth,  and  yon  milk-white  horse  doth  go 
Beneath  his  stately  master,  with  a  stately  step  and  slow  : — 
Then  rise, — oh  !  rise,  Xarifa,  lay  the  golden  cushion  down  ; 
Unseen  here  through  the  lattice,  you  may  gaze  with  all  the  town  !' 

The  Zegri  lady  rose  not,  nor  laid  her  cushion  down, 

Nor  came  she  to  the  window  to  gaze  with  all  the  town  ; 

But  though  her  eyes  dwelt  on  her  knee,  in  vain  her  fingers  strove, 

And  though  her  needle  pressed  the  silk,  no  flower  Xarifa  wove  ; 

One  bonny  rose-bud  she  had  traced,  before  the  noise  drew  nigh ; 

That  bonny  bud  a  tear  effaced,  slow  drooping  from  her  eye. 

'  No — no  !'  she  sighs, — '  bid  me  not  rise,  nor  lay  my  cushion  down, 

To  gaze  upon  Andalla  with  all  the  gazing  town  !' 

'  Why  rise  ye  not,  Xarifa — nor  lay  your  cushion  down  3 
Why  gaze  ye  not,  Xarifa — with  all  the  gazing  town  ? 
Hear,  hear  the  trumpet  how  it  swells,  and  how  the  people  cry  ! 
He  stops  at  Zara's  palace-gate — why  sit  ye  still — oh,  why  !' 

'  At  Zara's  gate  stops  Zara's  mate  ;  in  him  shall  I  discover 

The  dark-eyed  youth  pledged  me  his  truth  with  tears,  and  was  my  lover  1 
I  will  not  rise,  with  weary  eyes,  nor  lay  my  cushion  down, 
To  gaze  on  false  Andalla  with  all  the  gazing  town  I' 


Zara's  tSat^rtttfls. 


'  My  ear-rings  !  my  ear-rings  !  they  've  dropped  into  the  well, 
And  what  to  say  to  Mu9a,  I  cannot,  cannot  tell ;' — 
'T  was  thus,  Granada's  fountain  by,  spoke  Albuharez'  daughter — 
'  The  well  is  deep, — far  down  they  lie,  beneath  the  cold  blue  water  ; 
To  me  did  Mu9a  give  them,  when  he  6pake  his  sad  farewell, 
And  what  to  say  when  he  comes  back,  alas  !  I  cannot  telL 

1  My  ear-rings  !  my  ear-rings  ! — they  were  pearls,  in  silver  set, 
That,  when  my  Moor  was  far  away,  I  ne'er  should  him  forget ; 
That  I  ne'er  to  other  tongue  should  list,  nor  smile  on  other's  tale, 
But  remember  he  my  lips  had  kissed,  pure  as  those  ear-rings  pale. 
When  he  comes  back,  and  hears  that  I  have  dropped  them  in  the  well, 
Oh  !  what  will  Mu§a  think  of  me  ! — I  cannot,  cannot  tell ! 

1  My  ear-rings  !  my  ear-rings  ! — he  '11  say  they  should  have  been, 
Not  of  pearl  and  of  silver,  but  of  gold  and  glittering  sheen, 
Of  jasper  and  of  onyx,  and  of  diamond  shining  clear, 
Changing  to  the  changing  light,  with  radiance  insincere  ; 
That  changeful  mind  unchanging  gems  are  not  befitting  well ; 
Thus  will  he  think, — and  what  to  say,  alas  !  I  cannot  tell. 


'  He  '11  think,  when  I  to  market  went,  I  loitered  by  the  way  ; 

He  '11  think,  a  willing  ear  I  lent  to  all  the  lads  might  say  ; 

He  '11  think,  some  other  lover's  hand,  among  my  tresses  noosed, 

From  the  ears  where  he  had  placed  them  my  rings  of  pearl  unloosed  ; 

He  '11  think,  when  I  was  sporting  so  beside  this  marble  well, 

My  pearls  fell  in, — and  what  to  say,  alas  !  I  cannot  tell. 


150 


ZARA  S    EAR-RINGS. 


'  He  '11  say,  I  am  a  woman,  and  we  are  all  the  same  ; 
He  '11  say,  I  loved,  when  he  was  here,  to  whisper  of  his  flame, — 
But,  when  he  went  to  Tunis,  my  virgin  troth  had  broken, 
And  thought  no  more  of  Muca,  and  cared  not  for  his  token. 
My  ear-rings  !  my  ear-rings  :  oh  !  luckless,  luckless  well, 
For  what  to  say  to  Muca, — alas  !  I  cannot  tell. 


•  I  '11  tell  the  truth  to  Muca, — and  I  hope  he  will  believe, — 
That  I  thought  of  him  at  morning,  and  thought  of  him  at  eve  : 
That,  musing  on  my  lover,  when  down  the  sun  was  gone, 
His  ear-rings  in  my  hand  I  held,  by  the  fountain  all  alone  ; 
And  that  my  mind  was  o'er  the  sea,  when  from  my  hand  they  fell, 
And  that  deep  his  love  lies  in  my  heart,  as  they  lie  in  the  well !' 


£fje  Hamentattou  for  i&tlin. 


At  the  gate  of  old  Granada,  when  all  its  bolts  are  barred, 

At  twilight,  at  the  Vega-gate,  there  is  a  trampling  heard  ; 

There  is  a  trampling  heard,  as  of  horses  treading  slow, 

And  a  weeping  voice  of  women,  and  a  heavy  sound  of  woe  ! 

'  What  tower  is  fallen,  what  star  is  set,  what  chief  come  these  bewailing  V — 

'  A  tower  is  fallen,  a  star  is  set ! — Alas  !  alas  for  Celin  !' 

Three  times  they  knock,  three  times  they  cry, — and  wide  the  doors  they  throw ; 

Dejectedly  they  enter,  and  mournfully  they  go  ; 

In  gloomy  lines  they  mustering  stand,  beneath  the  hollow  porch, 

Each  horseman  grasping  in  his  hand  a  black  and  flaming  torch  ; 

Wet  is  each  eye  as  they  go  by,  and  all  around  is  wailing, 

For  all  have  heard  the  misery. — '  Alas  !  alas  for  Celin  !' 

Him,  yesterday,  a  Moor  did  slay,  of  Bencerraje's  blood, — 
'T  was  at  the  solemn  jousting — around  the  nobles  stood  ; 
The  nobles  of  the  land  were  by,  and  ladies  bright  and  fair 
Looked  from  their  latticed  windows,  the  haughty  sight  to  share  ; 
But  now  the  nobles  all  lament — the  ladies  are  bewailing — 
For  he  was  Granada's  darling  knight. — '  Alas  !  alas  for  Celin  1' 

Before  him  ride  his  vassals,  in  order  two  by  two, 
With  ashes  on  their  turbans  spread,  most  pitiful  to  view  ; 
Behind  him  his  four  sisters,  each  wrapped  ip  sable  veil, 
Between  the  tambour's  dismal  strokes  take  up  their  doleful  tale  ; 
When  stops  the  muffled  drum,  ye  hear  their  brotherless  bewailing, 
And  all  the  people,  far  and  near,  cry — 'Alas  !  alas  for  Celin  !' 


152  THE   LAMENTATION   FOK   CELIN. 

Oh !  lovely  lies  he  on  the  bier,  above  the  purple  pall, 

The  flower  of  all  Granada's  youth,  the  loveliest  of  them  all ; 

His  dark,  dark  eyes  are  closed,  his  rosy  lip  is  pale, 

The  crust  of  blood  lies  black  and  dim  upon  his  burnished  mail ; 

And  evermore  the  hoarse  tambour  breaks  in  upon  their  wailing, 

Its  sound  is  like  no  earthly  sound — '  Alas  !  alas  for  Celin  !' 

The  Moorish  maid  at  the  lattice  stands, — the  Moor  stands  at  his  door ; 
One  maid  is  wringing  of  her  hands,  and  one  is  weeping  sore  ; 
Down  to  the  dust  men  bow  their  heads,  and  ashes  black  they  strew 
Upon  their  broidered  garments,  of  crimson,  green,  and  blue  ; 
Before  each  gate  the  bier  stands  still, — then  bursts  the  loud  bewailing, 
From  door  and  lattice,  high  and  low — 'Alas  !  alas  for  Celin  !' 

An  old  old  woman  cometh  forth,  when  she  hears  the  people  cry, — 

Her  hair  is  white  as  silver,  like  horn  her  glazed  eye  : 

'T  was  she  that  nursed  him  at  her  breast, — that  nursed  him  long  ago  ; 

She  knows  not  whom  they  all  lament,  but  soon  she  well  shall  know  J 

With  one  deep  shriek,  she  thro'  doth  break,  when  her  ears  receive  their  wailing- 

'  Let  me  kiss  my  Celin  ere  I  die — Alas  !  alas  for  Celin  I' 


m 


K$z  J&oor  <£alaguos. 


In  the  following  version,  I  have  taken  liberty  to  omit  many  of  the  introductory  stanzas 
of  the  famous  "  Coplas  de  Calainos."  The  reader  will  remember  that  this  ballad  is 
alluded  to  in  Don  Quixote,  where  the  knight's  nocturnal^visit  to  Toboso  is  described.  It 
is  generally  believed  to  be  among  the  most  ancient,  and  certainly  was  among  the  most 
popular,  of  all  the  ballads  in  the  Cancionero. 


1 1  had  six  Moorish  nurses,  but  the  seventh  was  not  a  Moor, — 
The  Moors  they  gave  me  milk  enow,  but  the  Christian  gave  me  lore  ; 
And  she  told  me  ne'er  to  listen,  though  sweet  the  words  might  be, 
Till  he  that  spake  had  proved  his  troth,  and  pledged  a  gallant  fee.' 

1  Fair  damsel,'  quoth  Calaynos,  '  if  thou  wilt  go  with  me, 
Say  what  may  win  thy  favor,  and  mine  that  gift  shall  be  : 
Fair  stands  the  castle  on  the  rock,  the  city  in  the  vale, 
And  bonny  is  the  red  red  gold,  and  rich  the  silver  pale.' 

'  Fair  sir,'  quoth  she,  '  virginity  I  never  will  lay  down 
For  gold,  nor  yet  for  silver,  for  castle,  nor  for  town  ; 
But  I  will  be  your  leman  for  the  heads  of  certain  peers  ; 
And  I  ask  but  three — Rinaldo's,  Roland's,  and  Olivier's.' — 

He  kissed  her  hand  where  she  did  stand,  he  kissed  her  lips  also, 
And  '  Bring  forth,'  he  cries,  '  my  pennon,  for  to  Paris  I  must  go  !' 
I  wot  ye  saw  them  rearing  his  banner  broad  right  soon, 
Whereon  revealed  his  bloody  field  its  pale  and  crescent  moon. 

That  broad  bannere  the  Moor  did  rear,  ere  many  days  were  gone, 
In  foul  disdain  of  Charlemagne,  by  the  church  of  good  Saint  John  ; 
In  the  midst  of  stately  Paris,  on  the  royal  banks  of  Seine, 
Shall  never  scornful  Paynim  that  pennon  rear  again. 


156  THE   MOOE   CALAYNOS. 

His  banner  he  hath  planted  high,  and  loud  his  trumpet  blown, 
That  all  the  twelve  might  hear  it  well  around  King  Charles's  throne  ; 
The  note  he  blew  right  well  they  knew  ;  both  paladin  and  peer 
Had  the  trumpet  heard  of  that  stern  lord  in  many  a  fierce  career. 

It  chanced  the  King,  that  fair  morning,  to  the  chase  had  made  him  bowne, 
With  many  a  knight  of  warlike  might,  and  prince  of  high  renown  : 
Sir  Reynold  of  Montalban,  and  Claros'  lord,  Gaston, 
Behind  him  rode,  and  Bertram  good,  that  reverend  old  baron. 

Black  D'Ardennes'  eye  of  mastery  in  that  proud  troop  was  seen  ; 
And  there  was  Urgel's  giant  force,  and  Guarinos'  princely  mien  ; 
Gallant  and  gay  upon  that  day  was  Baldwin's  youthful  cheer, 
But  first  did  ride,  by  Charles's  side,  Roland  and  Olivier. 

Now  in  a  ring,  around  the  King,  not  far  in  the  greenwood, 

Awaiting  all  the  huntsman's  call,  it  chanced  the  nobles  stood  ; 

'Now  list,  mine  earls,  now  list !'  quoth  Charles,  'yon  breeze  will  come  again,- 

Some  trumpet-note  methinks  doth  float  from  the  fair  bank  of  Seine.' 

He  scarce  had  heard  the  trumpet,  the  word  he  scarce  had  said, 
When  among  the  trees  he  near  him  sees  a  dark  and  turbaned  head  ; 
'  Now  stand,  now  stand  at  my  command,  bold  Moor  !'  quoth  Charlemagne  ; 
'  That  turban  green,  how  dare  it  be  seen  among  the  woods  of  Seine  !' 

'  My  turban  green  must  needs  be  seen  among  the  woods  of  Seine,' 
The  Moor  replied,  '  since  here  I  ride  in  quest  of  Charlemagne  ; 
For  I  serve  the  Moor  Calaynos,  and  I  his  defiance  bring 
To  every  lord  that  sits  at  the  board  of  Charlemagne  your  King. 

'  Now  lordlings  fair,  if  any  where  in  the  wood  ye  've  seen  him  riding, 
Oh,  tell  me  plain  the  path  he  has  ta'en,— - there  is  no  cause  for  chiding  ; 
For  my  lord  hath  blown  his  trumpet  by  every  gate  of  Paris, 
Long  hours  in  vain,  by  the  bank  of  Seine,  upon  his  steed  he  tarries.' — 

When  the  Emperor  had  heard  the  Moor,  full  red  was  his  old  cheek  : 

'  Go  back,  base  cur,  upon  the  spur,  for  I  am  he  you  seek  : — 

Go  back,  and  tell  your  master  to  commend  him  to  Mahoun, 

For  his  soul  shall  dwell  with  him  in  hell,  or  ere  yon  sun  go  down  ! 


THE   MOOR   CALAYNOS. 

4  Mine  arm  is  weak,  my  hairs  are  gray'  (thus  spake  King  Charlemagne,) 

•  Would  for  one  hour  I  had  the  power  of  my  young  days  again ; 
As  when  I  plucked  the  Saxon  from  out  his  mountain-den, 

Oh,  soon  should  cease  the  vaunting  of  this  proud  Saracen  ! 

•  Though  now  mine  arm  be  weakened,  though  now  my  hairs  be  gray, 
The  hard-won  praise  of  other  days  cannot  be  swept  away  ; 

If  shame  there  be,  my  liegemen,  that  shame  on  you  must  lie  ; 
Go  forth,  go  forth,  good  Roland  ;  to-night  this  Moor  must  die  !' 

Then  out  and  spake  rough  Roland — '  Ofttimes  I  've  thinned  the  ranks 
Of  the  hot  Moor,  and  when  't  was  o'er  have  won  me  little  thanks  ; 
Some  carpet  knight  will  take  delight  to  do  this  doughty  feat. 
Whom  damsels  gay  shall  well  repay  with  smiles  and  whispers  sweet ! 

Then  out  and  spake  Sir  Baldwin — the  youngest  peer  was  he — 
The  youngest  and  the  comeliest — '  Let  none  go  forth  but  me  ; 
Sir  Roland  is  mine  uncle,  and  he  may  in  safety  jeer, 
But  I  will  show,  the  youngest  may  be  Sir  Roland's  peer.' 

'  Nay,  go  not  thou,'  quoth  Charlemagne,  '  thou  art  my  gallant  youth, 
And  braver  none  I  look  upon  ;  but  thy  cheek  it  is  too  smooth  ; 
And  the  curls  upon  thy  forehead  they  are  too  glossy  bright ; 
Some  elder  peer  must  couch  his  spear  against  this  crafty  knight.' — 

But  away,  away  goes  Baldwin,  no  words  can  stop  him  now  ; 
Behind  him  lies  the  greenwood,  he  hath  gained  the  mountain's  brow  ; 
He  reineth  first  his  charger,  within  the  church-yard  green, 
Where,  striding  slow  the  elms  below,  the  haughty  Moor  is  seen. 

Then  out  and  spake  Calaynos, — '  Fair  youth,  I  greet  thee  well ; 
Thou  art  a  comely  stripling,  and  if  thou  with  me  wilt  dwell, 
All  for  the  grace  of  thy  sweet  face,  thou  shalt  not  lack  thy  fee, 
Within  my  lady's  chamber  a  pretty  page  thou  'It  be.' — 

An  angry  man  was  Baldwin,  when  thus  he  heard  him  speak  : 

'  Proud  knight,'  quoth  he,  '  I  come  with  thee  a  bloody  spear  to  break  !' 

Oh,  sternly  smiled  Calaynos,  when  thus  he  heard  him  say  : 

Oh,  loudly  as  he  mounted  his  mailed  barb  did  neigh. 


158  THE   MOOR   CALAYNOS. 

One  shout,  one  thrust,  and  in  the  dust  young  Baldwin  lies  full  low  ; 
No  youthful  knight  could  bear  the  might  of  that  fierce  warrior's  blow  ; 
Calaynos  draws  his  falchion,  and  waves  it  to  and  fro  : 

*  Thy  name  now  say,  and  for  mercy  pray,  or  to  hell  thy  soul  must  go !' 

The  helpless  youth  revealed  the  truth  :  then  said  the  conqueror, — 
'  I  spare  thee  for  thy  tender  years,  and  for  thy  great  valor  ; 
But  thou  must  rest  thee  captive  here,  and  serve  me  on  thy  knee, 
For  fain  I'd  tempt  some  doughtier  peer  to  come  and  rescue  thee.' — 

Sir  Roland  heard  that  haughty  word  (he  stood  behind  the  wall ;) 
His  heart,  I  trow,  was  heavy  enow,  when  he  saw  his  kinsman  fall ; 
But  now  his  heart  was  burning,  and  never  word  he  said, 
But  clasped  his  buckler  on  his  arm,  his  helmet  on  his  head. 

Another  sight  saw  the  Moorish  knight,  when  Roland  blew  his  horn, 
To  call  him  to  the  combat  in  anger  and  in  scorn  ; 
All  cased  in  steel  from  head  to  heel,  in  the  stirrup  high  he  stood, 
The  long  spear  quivered  in  his  hand,  as  if  athirst  for  blood. 

Then  out  and  spake  Calaynos, — '  Thy  name  I  fain  would  hear  ; 

A  coronet  on  thy  helm  is  set ;  I  guess  thou  art  a  peer.' — 

Sir  Roland  lifted  up  his  horn,  and  blew  another  blast : 

1  No  words,  base  Moor  !'  quoth  Roland,  '  this  hour  shall  be  thy  last !' 

I  wot  they  met  full  swiftly,  I  wot  the  shock  was  rude  ; 

Down  fell  the  misbeliever,  and  o'er  him  Roland  stood ; 

Close  to  his  throat  the  steel  he  brought,  and  plucked  his  beard  full  sore  : 

4  What  devil  brought  thee  hither  ? — speak  out  or  die,  false  Moor  !' 

*  Oh  !  I  serve  a  noble  damsel,  a  haughty  maid  of  Spain, 
And  in  evil  day  I  took  my  way,  that  I  her  grace  might  gain  ; 
For  every  gift  I  offered  my  lady  did  disdain, 

And  craved  the  ears  of  certain  peers  that  ride  with  Charlemagne.' 

Then  loudly  laughed  rough  Roland  : — '  Full  few  will  be  her  tears, 
It  was  not  love  her  soul  did  move,  who  bade  thee  beard  the  peers  :' 
With  that  he  smote  upon  his  throat,  and  spurned  his  crest  in  twain  ; 

*  No  more,'  he  cries,  'this  moon  will  rise  above  the  woods  of  Seine  !' 


ante  ISscape  of  (KasUxatt. 


The  story  of  Gayfer  de  Bourdeaux  is  to  be  found  at  great  length  in  the  Romantic 
Chronicle  of  Charlemagne ;  and  it  has  supplied  the  Spanish  minstrels  with  subjects  for  a 
long  series  of  ballads.  In  that  which  follows,  Gayferos,  yet  a  boy,  is  represented  as 
hearing  from  his  mother  the  circumstances  of  his  father's  death ;  and  as  narrowly  escap- 
ing with  his  own  life,  in  consequence  of  his  step-father,  Count  Galvan's  cruelty. 

There  is  another  ballad  which  represents  Gayferos,  now  grown  to  be  a  man,  as  coming 
in  the  disguise  of  a  pilgrim  to  his  mother's  house,  and  slaying  his  step-father  with  his 
own  hand.     The  Countess  is  only  satisfied  as  to  his  identity  by  the  circumstance  of  the 

finger : — 

1  El  dedo  bien  es  aqueste,  aqui  lo  vereys  faltar 
La  condesa  que  csto  oyera  empezole  de  abracar.' 


Before  her  knee  the  boy  did  stand,  within  the  dais  so  fair, 
The  golden  shears  were  in  her  hand,  to  clip  his  curled  hair ; 
And  ever,  as  she  clipped  the  curls,  such  doleful  words  she  spake, 
That  tears  ran  from  Gayferos'  eyes,  for  his  sad  mother's  sake. 

'  God  grant  a  beard  were  on  thy  face,  and  strength  thine  arm  within, 
To  fling  a  spear,  or  swing  a  mace,  like  Roland  Paladin  ! 
For  then,  I  think,  thou  wouldst  avenge  thy  father  that  is  dead, 
Whom  envious  traitors  slaughtered  within  thy  mother's  bed  ; 

1  Their  bridal-gifts  were  rich  and  rare,  that  hate  might  not  be  seen  ; 
They  cut  me  garments  broad  and  fair — none  fairer  hath  the  Queen.'- 
Then  out  and  spake  the  little  boy — '  Each  night  to  God  I  call, 
And  to  his  blessed  Mother,  to  make  me  strong  and  tall  }' 

The  Count  he  heard  Gayferos,  in  the  palace  where  he  lay  : 
4  Now  silence,  silence,  Countess  I  it  is  falsehood  that  you  say  ; 
I  neither  slew  the  man,  nor  hired  another's  sword  to  slay  ; 
But,  that  the  mother  hath  desired,  be  sure  the  son  shall  pay  !' 


160  THE   ESCAPE   OF  GAYFEROS. 

The  Count  called  to  his  esquires  (old  followers  were  they, 
Whom  the  dead  lord  had  nurtured  for  many  a  merry  day  ;) 
He  bade  them  take  their  old  lord's  heir,  and  stop  his  tender  breath  ; 
Alas  !  'twas  piteous  but  to  hear  the  manner  of  that  death. 

'  List,  esquires,  list,  for  my  command  is  offspring  of  mine  oath, 
The  stirrup-foot  and  the  hilt-hand  see  that  ye  sunder  both ; 
That  ye  cut  out  his  eyes  'twere  best — the  safer  he  will  go  ; 
And  bring  a  finger  and  the  heart,  that  I  his  end  may  know.' 

The  esquires  took  the  little  boy  aside  with  them  to  go  ; 
Yet,  as  they  went,  they  did  repent — •  O  God  !  must  this  be  so  ? 
How  shall  we  think  to  look  for  grace,  if  this  poor  child  we  slay, 
When  ranged  before  Christ  Jesu's  face  at  the  great  judgment-day  V 

While  they,  not  knowing  what  to  do,  were  standing  in  such  talk, 
The  Countess'  little  lap-dog  bitch  by  chance  did  cross  their  walk  ; 
Then  out  and  spake  one  of  the  'squires  (you  may  hear  the  words  he  said,) 
•  I  think  the  coming  of  this  bitch  may  serve  us  in  good  stead  ! 

'  Let  us  take  out  the  bitch's  heart,  and  give  it  to  Galvan  ; 
The  boy  may  with  a  finger  part,  and  be  no  worser  man.' — 
With  that  they  cut  the  joint  away,  and  whispered  in  his  ear, 
That  he  must  wander  many  a  day,  nor  once  those  parts  come  near. 

'  Your  uncle  grace  and  love  will  show ;  he  is  a  bounteous  man.' 
And  so  they  let  Gayferos  go,  and  turned  them  to  Galvan  ; 
The  heart  and  the  small  finger  upon  the  board  they  laid, 
And  of  Gayferos'  slaughter  a  cunning  story  made. 

The  Countess,  when  she  hears  them,  in  great  grief  loudly  cries  : 
Meantime  the  stripling  safely  unto  his  uncle  hies  : — 
'  Now  welcome,  my  fair  boy,'  he  said,  '  what  good  news  may  they  be 
Come  with  thee  to  thine  uncle's  hall  V — '  Sad  tidings  come  with  me  :— 

'  The  false  Galvan  had  laid  his  plan  to  have  me  in  my  grave  ; 
But  I've  escaped  him,  and  am  here,  my  boon  from  thee  to  crave  : 
Rise  up,  rise  up,  mine  uncle,  thy  brother's  blood  they've  shed  ! 
Rise  up — they've  slain  my  father  within  my  mother's  bed  !' 


SHcltsentrra. 


The  following  is  a  version  of  another  of  the  ballads  concerning  Gayferos.     It  is  the  * 

same  that  is  quoted  in  the  chapter  of  the  Puppet-show  in  Don  Quixote.     '  Now,  sirs,  he  5 

that  you  see  there  a-horseback,  wrapt  up  in  the  Gascoign-cloak,  is  Don  Gayferos  himself,  i 

whom  his  wife,  now  revenged  on  the  Moor  for  his  impudence,  seeing  from  the  battle-  j 

ments  of  the  tower,  takes  him  for  a  stranger,  and  talks  with  him  as  such,  according  to  > 
the  ballad — 

'  Quoth  Melisendra,  if  perchance,  I 
Sir  Traveller,  you  go  for  France,'  &c. 

The  place  of  the  lady's  captivity  was  Saragossa,  anciently  called  Sansuena. 


At  Sansuena,  in  the  tower,  fair  Melisendra  lies, 
Her  heart  is  far  away  in  France,  and  tears  are  in  her  eyes  ; 
The  twilight  shade  is  thickening  laid  on  Sansuena's  plain, 
Yet  wistfully  the  lady  her  weary  eyes  doth  strain. 

She  gazes  from  the  dungeon  strong,  forth  on  the  road  to  Paris, 
Weeping,  and  wondering  why  so  long  her  lord  Gayferos  tarries  ; 
When  lo  !  a  knight  appears  in  view — a  knight  of  Christian  mien 
Upon  a  milk-white  charger  he  rides  the  elms  between. 

She  from  her  window  reaches  forth  her  hand  a  sign  to  make  : 
'  Oh,  if  you  be  a  knight  of  worth,  draw  near  for  mercy's  sake  ; 
For  mercy  and  sweet  charity,  draw  near,  Sir  Knight  to  me, 
And  tell  me  if  ye  ride  to  France,  or  whither  bowne  ye  be. 

•  Oh,  if  ye  be  a  Christian  knight,  and  if  to  France  you  go, 
I  pray  thee  tell  Gayferos  that  you  have  seen  my  woe  ; 
That  you  have  seen  me  weeping,  here  in  the  Moorish  tower, 
While  he  is  gay  by  night  and  day,  in  hall  and  lady's  bower. 


162 


MELISENDRA. 


•  Seven  summers  have  I  waited — seven  winters  long  are  spent : 
Yet  word  of  comfort  none  he  speaks,  nor  token  hath  he  sent ; 
And  if  he  is  weary  of  my  love,  and  would  have  me  wed  a  stranger, 
Still  say  his  love  is  true  to  him — nor  time  nor  wrong  can  change  her  !' 

The  knight  on  stirrup  rising,  bids  her  wipe  her  tears  away  : 

'  My  love,  no  time  for  weeping,  no  peril  save  delay  ; 

Come,  boldy  spring,  and  lightly  leap, — no  listening  Moor  is  near  us, 

And  by  dawn  of  day  we  '11  be  far  away  :' — so  spake  the  night  Gayferos. 


She  hath  made  the  sign  of  the  Cross  divine,  and  an  Ave  she  hath  said, 
And  she  dares  the  leap  both  wide  and  deep — that  lady  without  dread  ; 
And  he  hath  kissed  her  pale  pale  cheek,  and  lifted  her  behind  : 
Saint  Denis  speed  the  milk-white  steed  ! — no  Moor  their  path  shall  find. 


ftatts  &nra'0  Urmu. 


The  following  is  an  attempt  to  render  one  of  the  most  admired  of  all  the  Spanish  bal- 
lads. 

'  En  Paris  esta  Dona  Alda,  la  esposa  de  Don  Roldan, 
Trecientas  damas  con  ella,  para  la  accompanar, 
Todas  visten  un  vestido,  todas  calcan  un  calcar,'  <fcc. 

In  its  whole  structure  and  strain,  it  bears  a  very  remarkable  resemblance  to  several  of 
our  own  old  ballads,  both  English  and  Scottish. 


In  Paris  sits  the  lady  that  shall  be  Sir  Roland's  bride, 

Three  hundred  damsels  with  her,  her  bidding  to  abide  ; 

All  clothed  in  the  same  fashion,  both  the  mantle  and  the  shoon, 

All  eating  at  one  table,  within  her  hall  at  noon  : 

All,  save  the  Lady  Alda,  she  is  lady  of  them  all, — 

She  keeps  her  place  upon  the  dais,  and  they  serve  her  in  her  hall ; 

The  thread  of  gold  a  hundred  spin,  the  lawn  a  hundred  weave, 

And  a  hundred  play  sweet  melody  within  Alda's  bower  at  eve. 

With  the  sound  of  their  sweet  playing,  the  lady  falls  asleep, 
And  she  dreams  a  doleful  dream,  and  her  damsels  hear  her  weep  : 
There  is  sorrow  in  her  slumber,  and  she  waketh  with  a  cry, 
And  she  calleth  for  her  damsels,  and  swiftly  they  come  nigh. 
•  Now,  what  is  it,  Lady  Alda' — (you  may  hear  the  words  they  say)- 
4  Bringeth  sorrow  to  thy  pillow,  and  chaseth  sleep  away  V 
'  Oh,  my  maidens  !'  quoth  the  lady,  '  my  heart  it  is  full  sore  ! 
I  have  dreamt  a  dream  of  evil,  and  can  slumber  never  more ! 

'  For  I  was  upon  a  mountain,  in  a  bare  and  desert  place, 
And  I  saw  a  mighty  eagle,  and  a  falcon  he  did  chase  ; 
And  to  me  the  falcon  came,  and  I  hid  it  in  my  breast ; 
But  the  mighty  bird,  pursuing,  came  and  rent  away  my  vest ; 


164  LADY  ALDA's  DREAM. 

And  he  scattered  all  the  feathers,  and  blood  was  on  his  beak, 
And  ever,  as  he  tore  and  tore,  I  heard  the  falcon  shriek. 
Now  read  my  vision,  damsels, — now  read  my  dream  to  me, 
For  my  heart  may  well  be  heavy  that  doleful  sight  to  see.' 

Out  spake  the  foremost  damsel  was  in  her  chamber  there — 
•  (You  may  hear  the  words  she  says) — '  Oh  !  my  lady's  dream  is  fair : 
The  mountain  is  St.  Denis'  choir,  and  thou  the  falcon  art ; 
And  the  eagle  strong  that  teareth  the  garment  from  thy  heart, 
And  scattereth  the  feathers,  he  is  the  Paladin, 

That,  when  again  he  comes  from  Spain,  must  sleep  thy  bower  within. 
Then  be  blythe  of  cheer,  my  lady,  for  the  dream  thou  must  not  grieve, 
It  means  but  that  thy  bridegroom  shall  come  to  thee  at  eve.' 

'  If  thou  hast  read  my  vision,  and  read  it  cunningly,' 

Thus  said  the  Lady  Alda,  '  thou  shalt  not  lack  thy  fee.' — 

But  woe  is  me  for  Alda  !  there  was  heard,  at  morning  hour, 

A  voice  of  lamentation  within  that  lady's  bower  ; 

For  there  had  come  to  Paris  a  messenger  by  night, 

And  his  horse  it  was  a-weary,  and  his  visage  it  was  white  ; 

And  there  's  weeping  in  the  chamber,  and  there  's  silence  in  the  hall, 

For  Sir  Roland  has  been  slaughtered  in  the  chase  of  Roncesval. 


STfie  ^irmtral  <Sfuan'ttOB, 


This  is  a  translation  of  the  ballad  which  Don  Quixote  and  Sancho  Panza,  when  at 
Toboso,  overheard  a  peasant  singing,  as  he  was  going  to  his  work  at  daybreak.  '  Iba 
cantando,'  says  Cervantes,  '  aquel  romance  que  dice, 

'  Mala  la  vistes  Franceses  la  caca  de  Honcesvalles.' 


The  day  of  Roncesvalles  was  a  dismal  day  for  you, 

Ye  men  of  France,  for  there  the  lance  of  King  Charles  was  broke  in  two 

Ye  well  may  curse  that  rueful  field,  for  many  a  noble  peer, 

In  fray  or  fight,  the  dust  did  bite,  beneath  Bernardo's  spear. 

There  captured  was  Guarinos,  King  Charles's  admiral ; 
Seven  Moorish  kings  surrounded  him,  and  seized  him  for  their  thrall ; 
Seven  times,  when  all  the  chase  was  o'er,  for  Guarinos  lots  they  cast  ; 
Seven  times  Marlotes  won  the  throw,  and  the  knight  was  his  at  last. 

Much  joy  had  then  Marlotes,  and  his  captive  much  did  prize  ; 
Above  all  the  wealth  of  Araby,  he  was  precious  in  his  eyes. 
Within  his  tent  at  evening  he  made  the  best  of  cheer, 
And  thus,  the  banquet  done,  he  spake  unto  his  prisoner. 

1  Now,  for  the  sake  of  Alia,  Lord  Admiral  Guarinos, 
Be  thou  a  Moslem,  and  much  love  shall  ever  rest  between  us  : 
Two  daughters  have  I, — all  the  day  thy  handmaid  one  shall  be, 
The  other  (and  the  fairer  far)  by  night  shall  cherish  thee. 

'  The  one  shall  be  thy  waiting-maid,  thy  weary  feet  to  lave, 
To  scatter  perfumes  on  thy  head,  and  fetch  thee  garments  brave  ; 
The  other — she  the  pretty — shall  deck  her  bridal-bower, 
And  my  field  and  my  city  they  both  shall  be  her  dower. 


166  THE   ADMIRAL   GUARINOS. 

'  If  more  thou  wishest,  more  I'll  give  ;  speak  boldly  what  thy  thought  is  ;' 

Thus  earnestly  and  kindly  to  Guarinos  said  Marlotes  : 

But  not  a  moment  did  he  take  to  ponder  or  to  pause, 

Thus  clear  and  quick  the  answer  of  the  Christian  captain  was  : — 

'  Now,  God  forbid  !  Marlotes,  and  Mary,  his  dear  mother, 
That  I  should  leave  the  faith  of  Christ,  and  bind  me  to  another  : 
For  women — I've  one  wife  in  France,  and  I'll  wed  no  more  in  Spain ; 
I  change  not  faith,  I  break  not  vow,  for  courtesy  or  gain.' 

Wroth  waxed  King  Marlotes,  when  thus  he  heard  him  say, 
And  all  for  ire  commanded,  he  should  be  led  away ; 
Away  unto  the  dungeon-keep,  beneath  its  vaults  to  lie, 
With  fetters  bound  in  darkness  deep,  far  off  from  sun  and  sky. 

With  iron  bands  they  bound  his  hands  :  that  sore  unworthy  plight 
Might  well  express  his  helplessness,  doomed  never  more  to  fight. 
Again,  from  cincture  down  to  knee,  long  bolts  of  iron  he  bore, 
Which  signified  the  knight  should  ride  on  charger  never  more. 

Three  times  alone,  in  all  the  year,  it  is  the  captive's  doom 
To  see  God's  daylight  bright  and  clear,  instead  of  dungeon-gloom ; 
Three  times  alone  they  bring  him  out,  like  Sampson  long  ago, 
Before  the  Moorish  rabble-rout  to  be  a  sport  and  show. 

On  three  high  feasts  they  bring  him  forth,  a  spectacle  to  be, — 
The  feast  of  Pasque,  and  the  great  day  of  the  Nativity, 
And  on  that  morn,  more  solemn  yet,  when  maidens  strip  the  bowers, 
And  gladden  mosque  and  minaret  with  the  firstlings  of  the  flowers. 

Day  come  and  go  of  gloom  and  show  :  seven  years  are  come  and  gone  ; 
And  now  doth  fall  the  festival  of  the  holy  Baptist  John  ; 
Christian  and  Moslem  tilts  and  jousts,  to  give  it  homage  due, 
And  rushes  on  the  paths  to  spread  they  force  the  sulky  Jew. 

Marlotes,  in  his  joy  and  pride,  a  target  high  doth  rear — 

Below  the  Moorish  knights  must  ride,  and  pierce  it  with  the  spear  ; 

But  'tis  so  high  up  in  the  sky,  albeit  much  they  strain, 

No  Moorish  lance  so  far  may  fly,  Marlotes'  prize  to  gain. 


THE  ADMIRAL  GUARINOS.  167 

Wroth  waxed  King  Marlotes,  when  he  beheld  them  fail ; 

The  whisker  trembled  on  his  lip, — his  cheek  for  ire  was  pale  ; 

And  heralds  proclamation  made,  with  trumpets,  through  the  town, — 

'  Nor  child  shall  suck,  nor  man  shall  eat,  till  the  mark  be  tumbled  down.' 

The  cry  of  proclamation,  and  the  trumpet's  haughty  sound, 
Did  send  an  echo  to  the  vault  where  the  Admiral  was  bound. 
'Now,  help  me  God  !'  the  captive  cries,  '  what  means  this  din  so  loud  ? 
O  Queen  of  Heaven  !  be  vengeance  given  on  these  thy  haters  proud  ! 

'  Oh  !  is  it  that  some  Pagan  gay  doth  Marlotes'  daughter  wed, 

And  that  they  bear  my  scorned  fair  in  triumph  to  his  bed  ? 

Or  is  it  that  the  day  is  come, — one  of  the  hateful  three, — 

When  they,  with  trumpet,  fife,  and  drum,  make  heathen  game  of  me  V 

These  words  the  jailer  chanced  to  hear,  and  thus  to  him  he  said, 
'  These  tabors,  Lord,  and  trumpet's  clear,  conduct  no  bride  to  bed  ; 
Nor  has  the  feast  come  round  again,  when  he  that  has  the  right 
Commands  thee  forth,  thou  foe  of  Spain,  to  glad  the  people's  sight ! 

'  This  is  the  joyful  morning  of  John  the  Baptist's  day, 
When  Moor  and  Christian  feasts  at  home,  each  in  his  nation's  way ; 
But  now  our  King  commands  that  none  his  banquet  shall  begin, 
Until  some  knight,  by  strength  or  sleight,  the  spearman's  prize  do  win.' 

Then  out  and  spake  Guarinos,  '  Oh  !  soon  each  man  should  feed, 
Were  I  but  mounted  once  again  on  my  own  gallant  steed  : 
Oh  !  were  I  mounted  as  of  old,  and  harnessed  cap-a-pee, 
Full  soon  Marlotes'  prize  I'd  hold,  whate'er  its  price  may  be  ! 

•  Give  me  my  horse,  mine  old  gray  horse,  so  be  he  is  not  dead, 
All  gallantly  caparisoned,  with  plate  on  breast  and  head, 

And  give  the  lance  I  brought  from  France  ;  and  if  I  win  it  not, 
My  life  shall  be  the  forfeiture, — I'll  yield  it  on  the  spot' 

The  jailer  wondered  at  his  words  :  thus  to  the  knight  said  he, 

•  Seven  weary  years  of  chains  and  gloom  have  little  humbled  thee ; 
There's  never  a  man  in  Spain,  I  trow,  the  like  so  well  might  bear ; 
And  if  thou  wilt,  I  with  thy  vow  will  to  the  King  repair.' 


168  THE   ADMIRAL   GUAKINOS. 

The  jailer  put  his  mantle  on,  and  came  unto  the  King, 
He  found  him  sitting  on  the  throne,  within  his  listed  ring  ; 
Close  to  his  ear  he  planted  him,  and  the  story  did  begin, 
How  bold  Guarinos  vaunted  him  the  spearman's  prize  to  win. 

That,  were  he  mounted  but  once  more  on  his  own  gallant  gray, 
And  armed  with  the  lance  he  bore  on  Roncesvalles'  day, 
What  never  Moorish  night  could  pierce,  he  would  pierce  it  at  a  blow, 
Or  give  with  joy  his  life-blood  fierce,  at  Marlotes'  feet  to  flow. 

Much  marvelling,  then  said  the  King, — « Bring  Sir  Guarinos  forth, 
And  in  the  grange  go  seek  ye  for  his  gray  steed  of  worth  ; 
His  arms  are  rusty  on  the  wall, — seven  years  have  gone,  I  judge, 
Since  that  strong  horse  has  bent  his  force  to  be  a  carrion  drudge  ; 

•  Now  this  will  be  a  sight  indeed,  to  see  the  enfeebled  lord 
Essay  to  mount  that  ragged  steed,  and  draw  that  rusty  sword  ; 
And  for  the  vaunting  of  his  phrase  he  well  deserves  to  die, 
So,  jailer,  gird  his  harness  on,  and  bring  your  champion  nigh.' 

They  have  girded  on  his  shirt  of  mail,  his  cuisses  well  they  've  clasped, 
And  they've  barred  the  helm  on  his  visage  pale,  and  his  hand  the  lance  hath 

grasped, 
And  they  have  caught  the  old  gray  horse,  the  horse  he  loved  of  yore, 
And  he  stands  pawing  at  the  gate — caparisoned  once  more. 

When  the  knight  came  out,  the  Moors  did  shout,  and  loudly  laughed  the  King, 

For  the  horse  he  pranced  and  capered,  and  furiously  did  fling  ; 

But  Guarinos  whispered  in  his  ear,  and  looked  into  his  face, 

Then  stood  the  old  charger  like  a  lamb,  with  a  calm  and  gentle  grace. 

Oh  !  lightly  did  Guarinos  vault  into  the  saddle-tree, 

And  slowly  riding  down  made  halt  before  Marlotes'  knee ; 

Again  the  heathen  laughed  aloud, — '  All  hail,  sir  knight,'  quoth  he, 

1  Now  do  thy  best,  thou  champion  proud  :  thy  blood  I  look  to  see  !' 

With  that,  Guarinos,  lance  in  rest,  against  the  scoffer  rode, 
Pierced  at  one  thrust  his  envious  breast,  and  down  his  turban  trode  : 
Now  ride,  now  ride,  Guarinos — nor  lance  nor  rowel  spare — 
Slay,  slay,  and  gallop  for  thy  life  :  the  land  of  France  lies  tliere ! 


STfje  ILatrg  of  tfje  Kxtt. 


The  following  is  one  of  the  few  old  Spanish  ballads  in  which  mention  is  made  of  the 
Fairies.  The  sleeping  child's  being  taken  away  from  the  arms  of  the  nurse,  is  a  circum- 
stance quite  in  accordance  with  our  own  tales  of  Fairyland ;  but  the  seven  years'  enchant- 
ment in  the  tree  reminds  us  more  of  those  oriental  fictions,  the  influence  of  which  has 
stamped  so  many  indelible  traces  on  the  imaginative  literature  of  Spain. 


The  knight  had  hunted  long,  and  twilight  closed  the  day, 
His  hounds  were  weak  and  weary, — 'his  hawk  had  flown  away  ; 
He  stopped  beneath  an  oak,  an  old  and  mighty  tree, 
Then  out  the  maiden  spoke,  and  a  comely  maid  was  she. 

The  knight  'gan  lift  his  eye  the  shady  boughs  between, 
She  had  her  seat  on  high,  among  the  oak-leaves  green  ; 
Her  golden  curls  lay  clustering  above  her  breast  of  snow, 
But  when  the  breeze  was  westering,  upon  it  they  did  flow. 

'  Oh,  fear  not,  gentle  knight !  there  is  no  cause  for  fear  ; 
I  am  a  good  king's  daughter,  long  years  enchanted  here  ; 
Seven  cruel  fairies  found  me, — they  charmed  a  sleeping  child  ; 
Seven  years  their  charm  hath  bound  me,  a  damsel  undefiled. 

'  Seven  weary  years  are  gone  since  o'er  me  charms  they  threw  ; 
I  have  dwelt  here  alone, — I  have  seen  none  but  you. 
My  seven  sad  years  are  spent ; — for  Christ  that  died  on  rood, 
Thou  noble  knight  consent,  and  lead  me  from  the  wood  ! 

'  Oh,  bring  me  forth  again  from  out  this  darksome  place  ! 
I  dare  not  sleep  for  terror  of  the  unholy  race. 
Oh,  take  me,  gentle  sir  !  I  '11  be  a  wife  to  thee, — 
I  '11  be  thy  lowly  leman,  if  wife  I  may  not  be  !' — 

-J2 


170 


THE   LADY   OF   THE   TREE. 


1  Till  dawns  the  morning,  wait,  thou  lovely  lady  !  here  ; 
I  '11  ask  my  mother  straight,  for  her  reproof  I  fear.' 
'  Oh,  ill  beseems  thee,  knight !'  said  she,  that  maid  forlorn, 
'  The  blood  of  kings  to  slight, — a  lady's  tears  to  scorn  !' 

He  came  when  morning  broke,  to  fetch  the  maid  away, 
But  could  not  find  the  oak  wherein  she  made  her  stay  ; 
All  through  the  wilderness  he  sought  in  bower  and  tree  ; — 
Fair  lordlings,  well  ye  guess  what  weary  heart  had  he  ! 

There  came  a  sound  of  voices  from  up  the  forest  glen, 
The  King  had  come  to  find  her  with  all  his  gentlemen  ; 
They  rode  in  mickle  glee — a  joyous  calvacade — 
Fair  in  the  midst  rode  she,  but  never  word  she  said. 


Though  on  the  green  he  knelt,  no  look  on  him  she  cast — 
His  hand  was  on  the  hilt  ere  all  the  train  were  past. 
'  Oh,  shame  to  knightly  blood  !  Oh,  scorn  to  chivalry  ! 
I  '11  die  within  the  wood  : — No  eye  my  death  shall  see  !' 


anije  &bettflfn]j  <£fjittre. 


The  ballad  of  the  Infante  Vengador  is  proved  to  be  of  very  high  antiquity  by  certain 
particulars  in  its  language.  The  circumstance  of  the  tiled  floor,  and  some  others  of  the 
same  sort,  will  not  escape  the  notice  of  the  antiquarian  reader. 


Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  avoid  the  way  of  the  Avenging  Childe  ; 
His  horse  is  swift  as  sands  that  drift, — an  Arab  of  the  wild  ; 
His  gown  is  twisted  round  his  arm, — a  ghastly  cheek  he  wears  ; 
And  in  his  hand,  for  deadly  harm,  a  hunting  knife  he  bears. 

Avoid  that  knife  in  battle-strife  : — that  weapon  short  and  thin, 
The  dragon's  gore  hath  bathed  it  o'er,  seven  times  't  was  steeped  therein ; 
Seven  times  the  smith  hath  proved  its  pith, — it  cuts  a  coulter  through  ; 
In  France  the  blade  was  fashioned, — from  Spain  the  shaft  it  drew. 

He  sharpens  it,  as  he  doth  ride,  upon  his  saddle  bow, — 
He  sharpens  it  on  either  side,  he  makes  the  steel  to  glow  : 
He  rides  to  find  Don  Quadros,  that  false  and  faitour  knight ; 
His  glance  of  ire  is  hot  as  fire,  although  his  cheek  be  white. 

He  found  him  standing  by  the  King  within  the  judgment-hall ; 
He  rushed  within  the  barons'  ring, — he  stood  before  them  all : 
Seven  times  he  gazed  and  pondered,  if  he  the  deed  should  do  ; 
Eight  times  distraught  he  looked  and  thought — then  out  his  dagger  flew. 

He  stabbed  therewith  at  Quadros  : — the  King  did  step  between ; 
It  pierced  his  royal  garment  of  purple  wove  with  green  : 
He  fell  beneath  the  canopy,  upon  the  tiles  he  lay. 
;     « Thou  traitor  keen,  what  dost  thou  mean  1 — thy  King  why  wouldst  thou  slay?' 


172  THE   AVENGING   CHILDE. 

•  Now,  pardon,  pardon,'  cried  the  Childe,  '  I  stabbed  not,  King,  at  thee, 
But  him,  that  caitiff,  blood-defiled,  who  stood  beside  thy  knee  ; 
Eight  brothers  were  we, — in  the  land  might  none  more  loving  be, — 
They  all  are  slain  by  Quadras'  hand, — they  all  are  dead  but  me  ! 

'  Good  King,  I  fain  would  wash  the  stain, — for  vengeance  is  my  cry  ; 
This  murderer  with  sword  and  spear  to  battle  I  defy  !'- — 
But  all  took  part  with  Quadros,  except  one  lovely  May, — 
Except  the  King's  fair  daughter,  none  word  for  him  would  say. 

She  took  their  hands,  she  led  them  forth  into  the  court  below  ; 
She  bade  the  ring  be  guarded, — she  bade  the  trumpet  blow  ; 
From  lofty  place  for  that  stern  race  the  signal  she  did  throw  : — 
'  With  truth  and  right  the  Lord  will  fight, — together  let  them  go.' 

The  one  is  up,  the  other  down  :  the  hunter's  knife  is  bare  ; 
It  cuts  the  lace  beneath  the  face, — it  cuts  through  beard  and  hair ; 
Right  soon  that  knife  hath  quenched  his  life,  the  head  is  sundered  sheer  ; 
Then  gladsome  smiled  the  Avenging  Childe,  and  fixed  it  on  his  spear. 

But  when  the  King  beholds  him  bring  that  token  of  his  truth, 
Nor  scorn  nor  wrath  his  bosom  hath  : — '  Kneel  down,  thou  noble  youth  ; 
Kneel  down,  kneel  down,  and  kiss  my  crown,  I  am  no  more  thy  foe  ; 
My  daughter  now  may  pay  the  vow  she  plighted  long  ago !' 


(taunt  ^maltros. 


This  ballad  is  in  the  Cancionero  of  Antwerp,  1555.     I  should  be  inclined  to  suppose 
that 

'  More  is  meant  than  meets  the  ear,' — 

— that  some  religious  allegory  is  intended  to  be  shadowed  forth. 


Who  had  ever  such  adventure, 

Holy  priest,  or  virgin  nun, 
As  befel  the  Count  Arnaldos 

At  the  rising  of  the  sun  ] 

On  his  wrist  the  hawk  was  hooded, 
Forth  with  horn  and  hound  went  he, 

When  he  saw  a  stately  galley 
Sailing  on  the  silent  sea. 

Sail  of  satin,  mast  of  cedar, 

Burnished  poop  of  beaten  gold, — 

Many  a  morn  you  '11  hood  your  falcon 
Ere  you  such  a  bark  behold. 

Sails  of  satin,  masts  of  cedar, 
Golden  poops  may  come  again, 

But  mortal  ear  no  more  shall  listen 
To  yon  gray-haired  sailor's  strain. 

Heart  may  beat,  and  eye  may  glisten, 
Faith  is  strong,  and  Hope  is  free, 

But  mortal  ear  no  more  shall  listen 
To  the  song  that  rules  the  sea. 


174  COUNT   ARNALDOS. 

When  the  gray-haired  sailor  chaunted, 
Every  wind  was  hushed  to  sleep, — 

Like  a  virgin's  bosom  panted 
AH  the  wide  reposing  deep. 

Bright  in  beauty  rose  the  star-fish 
From  her  green  cave  down  below, 

Right  above  the  eagle  poised  him — 
Holy  music  charmed  them  so. 

1  Stately  galley  !  glorious  galley  ! 

God  hath  poured  his  grace  on  thee  ! 
Thou  alone  mayst  scorn  the  perils 

Of  the  dread  devouring  sea  ! 

'  False  Almeria's  reefs  and  shallows, 
Black  Gibraltar's  giant  rocks, 

Sound  and  sand-bank,  gulf  and  whirlpool, 
All — my  glorious  galley  mocks  !' 

'  For  the  sake  of  God,  our  maker  ! 

(Count  Arnaldos'  cry  was  strong) — 
'  Old  man,  let  me  be  partaker 

In  the  secret  of  thy  song  !' 

1  Count  Arnaldos  !  Count  Arnaldos  ! 

Hearts  I  read,  and  thoughts  I  know  ; — 
Wouldst  thou  learn  the  ocean  secret, 

In  our  galley  thou  must  go.' 


<3»ong  for  tijc  ftxocmnrj 
of  m 
Bag  of  J&afnt  iJofm  tfje  Eaptfat 


The  Marquis  du  Palmy  said,  many  years  ago,  in  his  ingenious  essay,  '  Sur 
la  vie  privee  des  Francois,' — '  Les  feux  de  la  Saint  Jean,  fondes  sur  ce  qu'on 
lit  dans  le  Nouveau  Testament  (St  Luc.  i.,  14,)  que  les  nations  se  rejouirent 
a  la  naissance  de  Saint  Jean,  sont  presque  eteints  par  tout' 

Both  in  the  northern  and  the  southern  parts  of  Europe,  there  prevailed  of 
old  a  superstitious  custom,  of  which  the  traces  probably  linger  to  this  day  in 
many  simple  districts.  The  young  women  rose  on  this  sacred  morning  ere 
the  sun  was  up,  and  collected  garlands  of  flowers,  which  they  bound  upon 
their  heads ;  and  according  as  the  dew  remained  upon  these  a  longer  or  a 
shorter  time,  they  augured  more  or  less  favorably  of  the  constancy  of  their 
lovers. 

Another  ceremony  was  to  enclose  a  wether  in  a  hut  of  heath,  and  dance 
and  sing  round  it,  while  she  who  desired  to  have  her  fortune  told  stood  by  the 
door.  If  the  wether  remained  still,  the  omen  was  good.  If  he  pushed  his 
horns  through  the  frail  roof  or  door,  then  the  lover  was  false-hearted. 

That  the  day  of  the  Baptist  was  a  great  festival  among  the  Spanish  Moors, 
the  reader  may  gather  from  many  passages  in  the  foregoing  ballads,  particu- 
larly that  of  '  The  Admiral  Guarinos.'  There  are  two  in  the  Cancionero, 
which  show  that  some  part  at  least  of  the  amorous  superstitions  of  the  day 
were  also  shared  by  them.     One  of  them  begins — 

'  La  manana  de  San  Juan,  salen  a  coger  guirnaldas, 
Zara  rauger  del  Rey  Chico,  con  sus  mas  queridas  damas :'  &c. 


176      SONG   FOK   THE   MORNING   OF   THE   DAY   OF   ST.   JOHN   THE   BAPTIST. 

The  other, — 

'  La  manana  de  San  Juan,  a  punta  que  alboreava, 
Gran  fiesta  hazen  los  Moros  por  la  vega  de  Granada, 
Rebolviendo  sus  cavallos,  y  jugando  con  las  lanzas, 
Ricos  pendones  en  ellas,  labrados  por  las  amadas. 

****** 
El  moro  que  amoves  liene,  senales  dellos  tnonstrava 
Y el  que  amiga  no  tenia,  alii  no  escaramucava,  fyc. 

The  following  song  is  one  that  used  to  be  sung  by  the  Spanish  country-girls, 
as  they  went  out  to  gather  their  dew  and  their  flowers,  on  St.  John's  day  in 
the  morning.     There  are  many  of  the  same  kind  ;  such  as  that  beginning — 

'  Esfce  dia  de  San  Juan 

Ay  de  mi ! 

Que  no  solia  ser  ansi !'  &c. 
And  that  other, — 

1  Yo  no  me  pome  guirnalda 

La  manana  de  San  Juan, 

Pues  mis  amores  se  van,'  &c. 


<Soit0  for  ti&e  fftocnfttfl 

of  t$t 

Day  of  .Saint  Jftofju  tije  baptist. 


Come  forth,  come  forth,  my  maidens,  'tis  the  day  of  good  St.  John, 
It  is  the  Baptist's  morning  that  breaks  the  hills  upon  ; 
And  let  us  all  go  forth  together,  while  the  blessed  day  is  new, 
To  dress  with  flowers  the  snow-white  wether,  ere  the  sun  has  dried  the  dew. 

Come  forth,  come  forth,  &c. 

Come  forth,  come  forth,  my  maidens,  the  woodlands  all  are  green, 
And  the  little  birds  are  singing  the  opening  leaves  between ; 
And  let  us  all  go  forth  together,  to  gather  trefoil  by  the  stream, 
Ere  the  face  of  Guidalquiver  glows  beneath  the  strengthening  beam. 

Come  forth,  come  forth,  &c. 

Come  forth,  come  forth,  my  maidens,  and  slumber  not  away 

The  blessed  blessed  morning  of  the  holy  Baptist's  day ; 

There's  trefoil  on  the  meadow,  and  lilies  on  the  lee, 

And  hawthorn  blossoms  on  the  bush,  which  you  must  pluck  with  me. 

Come  forth,  come  forth,  my  maidens,  the  air  is  calm  and  cool, 
And  the  violet  blue  far  down  ye'll  view,  reflected  in  the  pool ; 
The  violets  and  the  roses,  and  the  jasmines  all  together, 
We'll  bind  in  garlands  on  the  brow  of  the  strong  and  lovely  wether. 


178      SONG   FOR   THE   MORNING   OF   THE   DAY   OF   ST.   JOHN   THE   BAPTIST. 

Come  forth,  come  forth,  my  maidens,  we'll  gather  myrtle  boughs, 

And  we  shall  learn  from  the  dews  of  the  fern,  if  our  lads  will  keep  their  vows  : 

If  the  wether  be  still,  as  we  dance  on  the  hill,  and  the  dew  hangs  sweet  on  the 

flowers, 
Then  we'll  kiss  off"  the  dew,  for  our  lovers  are  true,  and  the  Baptist's  blessing 

is  ours. 

Come  forth,  come  forth,  my  maidens,  'tis  the  day  of  good  St.  John, 

It  is  the  Baptist's  morning  that  breaks  the  hills  upon  ; 

And  let  us  all  go  forth  together,  while  the  blessed  day  is  new, 

To  dress  with  flowers  the  snow-white  wether,  ere  the  sun  has  dried  the  dew. 


JjuiCaua. 


The  following  ballad  is  inserted  in  this  place  on  account  of  an  allusion  it  contains  to 
the  ancient  custom  which  forms  the  subject  of  the  preceding  one.  It  seems  to  represent 
the  frenzy  of  a  Spanish  knight,  who  has  gone  mad,  in  consequence  of  his  mistress  having 
been  carried  off  in  the  course  of  a  Moorish  foray. 

'  Arriba !  canes,  arriba !  que  rabia  mala  os  mate, 
En  jueves  maytas  el  puerco,  y  en  viernes  comeys  la  came, '  &c 


1  Off  !  off!  ye  hounds  ! — in  madness  an  ill  death  be  your  doom  ! 
The  boar  ye  killed  on  Thursday  on  Friday  ye  consume  ! 
Ay  me  !  and  it  is  now  seven  years  I  in  this  valley  go  ; 
Barefoot  I  wander,  and  the  blood  from  out  my  nails  doth  flow. 

'  I  eat  the  raw  flesh  of  the  boar, — I  drink  his  red  blood  here, 
Seeking,  with  heavy  heart  and  sore,  my  princess  and  my  dear  : 
'T  was  on  the  Baptist's  morning  the  Moors  my  princess  found, 
While  she  was  gathering  roses  upon  her  father's  ground.' 

Fair  Juliana  heard  his  voice  where  by  the  Moor  she  lay, 
Even  in  the  Moor's  encircling  arms  she  heard  what  he  did  say  ; 
The  lady  listened,  and  she  wept  within  that  guarded  place, — 
While  her  Moor  lord  beside  her  slept,  the  tears  fell  on  his  face. 


£$e  cSonfi  of  tfjc  QXalUg. 


[This  is  from  a  song  in  the  Cancionero  of  Valencia,  1511. 

'  Galcristas  de  Espafia 
Parad  los  remos,'  &c] 


•  Ye  mariners  of  Spain  ! 

Bend  strongly  on  your  oars, 
And  bring  my  love  again, 

For  he  lies  among  the  Moors  J 

'  Ye  galleys  fairly  built, 

Like  castles  on  the  sea, 
Ob,  great  will  be  your  guilt, 
If  ye  bring  him  not  to  me.' 

'  The  wind  is  blowing  strong, 
The  breeze  will  aid  your  oars  ; 

Oh,  swiftly  fly  along  1 

For  he  lies  among  the  Moors  ! 

♦  The  sweet  breeze  of  the  sea 

Cools  every  cheek  but  mine  ; 
Hot  is  its  breath  to  me, 
As  I  gaze  upon  the  brine. 

1  Lift  up,  lift  up  your  sail ! 

And  bend  upon  your  oars ; 
Oh,  lose  not  the  fair  gale, 

For  he  lies  among  the  Moors  ! 


THE   SONG   OF   THE   GALLEY. 


181 


•  It  is  a  narrow  strait, 

I  see  the  blue  hills  over  ; 

Your  coming  I'll  await, 
And  thank  you  for  my  lover. 


'  To  Mary  I  will  pray, 

While  ye  bend  upon  your  oars  ; 
'T  will  be  a  blessed  day, 

If  ye  fetch  him  from  the  Moors  !' 


rijc  emanfimnrj  Uni^Vn  Sons. 


[In  the  Cancionero  of  Antwerp,  1555. 

Mis  arreos  son  las  armas 
Mi  descanso  el  pelear.] 


Mt  ornaments  are  arms, 

My  pastime  is  in  war, 
My  bed  is  cold  upon  the  wold, 

My  lamp  yon  star  : 

My  journeyings  are  long, 

My  slumbers  short  and  broken  ; 

From  hill  to  hill  I  wander  still, 
Kissing  thy  token. 

I  ride  from  land  to  land, 

I  sail  from  sea  to  sea  ; 
Some  day  more  kind  I  fate  may  find, 

Some  night  kiss  thee  ! — 


•Serenade. 

[From  the  Romancero  General  of  1604. 
'  Mientras  duerme  mi  nifia,'  <fec] 


While  my  lady  sleepeth, 

The  dark  blue  heaven  is  bright, 
Soft  the  moonbeam  creepeth 

Round  her  bower  all  night. 
Thou  gentle,  gentle  breeze  ! 

While  my  lady  slumbers, 
Waft  lightly  through  the  trees 

Echoes  of  my  numbers, 
Her  dreaming  ear  to  please. 

Should  ye,  breathing  numbers 

That  for  her  I  weave, 
Should  ye  break  her  slumbers, 

All  my  soul  would  grieve. 
Rise  on  the  gentle  breeze, 

And  gain  her  lattice'  height 
O'er  yon  poplar  trees, — 

But  be  your  echoes  light 
As  hum  of  distant  bees. 

All  the  stars  are  glowing 

In  the  gorgeous  sky ; 
In  the  stream  scarce  flowing 

Mimic  lustres  lie : 
Blow,  gentle,  gentle  breeze  ! 

But  bring  no  cloud  to  hide 
Their  dear  resplendencies ; 

Nor  chase  from  Zara's  side 
Dreams  bright  and  pure  as  these. 


Cije  <£aj)tfbe  Bnfflijt  an*  tije  iSlacftturtr. 


The  following  is  a  translation  of  a  ballad  in  the  Cancionero  of  Antwerp,  1555. 

'  Pues  el  mes  era  de  Mayo,'  &c 

There  is  one  in  the  Cancionero  General  of  Valencia,  1511,  of  which  this  would  seem 
to  have  been  no  more  than  an  expansion.  The  older  is  perhaps  the  finer  of  the  two.  It 
is,  at  all  events,  so  short,  that  I  shall  transcribe  it. 

'  Que  por  Mayo  era  por  Mayo, 
Cuaudo  los  bland os  calores, 
Cuando  los  enamorados 
Van  servir  a  sua  amores  ; 
Sino  yo,  triste  Mezquino, 
Que  yago  en  estas  prisiones, 
Que  ni  se  cuando  es  de  dia 
Ni  menos  cuando  es  de  Noche  ; 
Sino  por  una  avecilla 
Que  me  cantaba  al  albor. — 
Matumelo  un  ballestero 
Delo  Dios  mal  galardon  ! 


'  'T  is  now,  they  say,  the  month  of  May, — 't  is  now  the  moons  are  bright ; 
'T  is  now  the  maids,  'mong  greenwood  shades,  sit  with  their  loves  by  night ; 
'T  is  now  the  hearts  of  lovers  true  are  glad  the  groves  among ; 
'T  is  now  they  sit  the  long  night  through,  and  list  the  thrush's  song. 

•  Woe  dwells  with  me,  in  spite  of  thee,  thou  gladsome  month  of  May  ! 
I  cannot  see  what  stars  there  be,  I  know  not  night  from  day  : 
There  was  a  bird,  whose  voice  I  heard, — oh  !  sweet  my  small  bird  sung, — 
I  heard  its  tune  when  night  was  gone,  and  up  the  morning  sprung. 

'  To  comfort  me  in  darkness  bound,  comes  now  no  voice  of  cheer  ; 
Long  have  I  listened  for  the  sound,  there  is  no  bird  to  hear  : 
Sweet  bird  !  he  had  a  cruel  heart,  whose  steel  thy  bosom  tore  ; 
A  ruffian  hand  discharged  the  dart,  that  makes  thee  sing  no  more. 


THE    CAPTIVE    KNIGHT    AND    THE    BLACKBIRD.  185 

•  I  am  the  vassal  of  my  King, — it  never  shall  be  said 

That  I  even  hence  a  curse  could  fling  against  my  liege's  head  ; 

But  if  the  jailer  slew  the  merle,  no  sin  is  in  my  word, 

God  look  in  anger  on  the  churl  that  harmed  my  harmless  bird  ! 

'  Oh,  should  some  kindly  Christian  bring  another  bird  to  me, 
Thy  tune  I  in  his  ear  would  sing,  till  he  could  sing  like  thee  ; 
But  were  a  dove  within  my  choice,  my  song  would  soon  be  o'er, 
For  he  would  understand  my  voice,  and  fly  to  Leonore. 

s 
'  He  would  fly  swiftly  through  the  air,  and  though  he  could  not  speak, 
He  'd  ask  a  file,  which  he  could  bear  within  his  little  beak  ; 
Had  I  a  file,  these  fetters  vile  I  from  my  wrist  would  break, 
And  see  right  soon  the  fair  May  moon  shine  on  my  lady's  cheek.' 

It  chanced  while  a  poor  captive  knight,  within  yon  dungeon  strong, 
Lamented  thus  the  arrow's  flight  that  stopped  his  blackbird's  song, 
(Unknown  to  him)  the  King  was  near  ;  he  heard  him  through  the  wall ; 
'  Nay,  since  he  has  no  merle  to  hear,  't  is  time  his  fetters  fall.' 


2-1 


UallatJolttr, 


[This  is  a  translation  from  one  of  the  ballads  in  Sepulveda's  collection  (Antwerp, 
1580  ;)  the  author's  name  unknown — 

'  En  los  tempos  que  me  vi,'  &c.,  p.  219.] 

My  heart  was  happy  when  I  turned  from  Burgos  to  Valladolid  ; 

My  heart  that  day  was  light  and  gay, — it  bounded  like  a  kid  : 

I  met  a  Palmer  on  the  way,  my  horse  he  bade  me  rein  : 

'  I  left  Valladolid  to-day,  I  bring  thee  news  of  pain  ! 

The  lady-love  whom  thou  dost  seek  in  gladness  and  in  cheer, 

Closed  is  her  eye,  and  cold  her  cheek  :  I  saw  her  on  her  bier. 

'  The  priests  went  singing  of  the  mass, — my  voice  their  song  did  aid  ; 

A  hundred  knights  with  them  did  pass  to  the  burial  of  the  maid  ; 

And  damsels  fair  went  weeping  there,  and  many  a  one  did  say, 

Poor  cavalier  !  he  is  not  here — 't  is  well  he  's  far  away.' — 

I  fell  when  thus  I  heard  him  speak, — upon  the  dust  I  lay, 

I  thought  my  heart  would  surely  break, — I  wept  for  half  a  day. 

When  evening  came  I  rose  again,  the  Palmer  held  my  steed  ; 

And  swiftly  rode  I  o'er  the  plain  to  dark  Valladolid  : 

I  came  unto  the  sepulchre  where  they  my  love  had  laid, — 

I  bowed  me  down  beside  the  bier,  and  there  my  moan  I  made  : 

'  Oh,  take  me,  take  me  to  thy  bed,  I  fain  would  sleep  with  thee  ! 

My  love  is  dead,  my  hope  is  fled, — there  is  no  joy  for  me  !' 

I  heard  a  sweet  voice  from  the  tomb, — I  heard  her  voice  so  clear. — 
4  Rise  up,  rise  up,  my  knightly  love  !  thy  weeping  well  I  hear  ; 
Rise  up  and  leave  this  darksome  place, — it  is  no  place  for  thee, 
God  yet  will  send  thee  helpful  grace,  in  love  and  chivalry  ; 
Though  in  the  grave  my  bed  I  have,  for  thee  my  heart  is  sore, — 
'T  will  ease  my  heart  if  thou  depart, — thy  peace  may  God  restore  !' 


Jiraflttt,  tije  ©otsatr. 


[This  celebrated  corsair  became  ultimately  High  Admiral  of  the  Turkish  fleet,  and  was 
slain  at  the  great  siege  of  Malta,  A.  D.  1565.] 

Oh,  swiftly,  very  swiftly,  they  up  the  Straits  have  gone, — 
Oh,  swiftly  flies  the  corsair,  and  swift  the  cross  comes  on  ; 
The  cross  upon  yon  banner,  that  streams  unto  the  breeze, 
It  is  the  sign  of  victory — the  cross  of  the  Maltese. 

'  Row,  row,  my  slaves,'  quoth  Dragut, — '  the  knights,  the  knights  are  near  ! 
Row,  row,  my  slaves,  row  swiftly,  the  starlight  is  too  clear ! 
The  stars  they  are  too  bright,  and  he  that  means  us  well, 
He  harms  us  when  he  trims  his  light — yon  Moorish  centinel.' 

There  came  a  wreath  of  smoke  from  out  a  culverine, 

The  corsair's  poop  it  broke,  and  it  sunk  into  the  brine  : 

Down  Moor  and  fettered  Christian  went  beneath  the  billows'  roar, 

But  hell  had  work  for  Dragut  yet,  and  he  swam  safe  ashore. 

One  only  of  the  captives,  a  happy  man  is  he, 

The  Christian  sailors  see  him,  yet  struggling  in  the  sea  ; 

They  hear  the  captive  praying, — they  hear  the  Christian  tongue, 

And  swiftly  from  the  galley  a  saving  rope  was  flung. 

It  was  a  Spanish  knight,  who  had  long  been  in  Algiers, 
From  ladies  high  descended,  and  noble  cavaliers  ; 
But  forced,  for  a  season,  a  false  Moor's  slave  to  be — 
Upon  the  shore  his  gardener,  his  galley  slave  at  sea. 

But  now  his  heart  is  dancing, — he  sees  the  Spanish  land, 
And  all  his  friends  advancing  to  meet  him  on  the  strand  ; 
His  heart  was  full  of  gladness,  albeit  his  eyes  ran  o'er, 
For  he  wept  as  he  stepped  upon  the  Christian  shore. 


Count  gUarcoa  airtr  tfje  Xitfanta  Solfsa. 


Mr.  Bouterwek  has  analyzed  this  ballad,  and  commented  upon  it  at  some  length,  in 
his  History  of  Spanish  Literature.  (See  Book  i.,  Section  1.)  He  bestows  particular 
praise  upon  a  passage,  which  the  reader  will  find  attempted  in  the  fourth  line  of  the 
thirty-first  stanza  of  the  following  version  : — 

'  Dedes  me  aca  este  bijo  amamare  por  despedida.' 

'  What  modern  poet,'  says  he,  '  would  have  dared  to  imagine  that  trait,  at  once  so  natural 
and  so  touching?'  Mn  Bouterwek  seems  to  be  of  opinion  that  the  story  of  the  ballad 
had  been  taken  from  some  prose  romance  of  chivalry  ;  but  I  have  not  been  able  to  find 
any  trace  of  it. 

Alone,  as  was  her  wont,  she  sate, — within  her  bower  alone  ; 
Alone  and  very  desolate  Solisa  made  her  moan, 
Lamenting  for  her  flower  of  life,  that  it  should  pass  away, 
And  she  be  never  wooed  to  wife,  nor  see  a  bridal  day. 

Thus  said  the  sad  Infanta, — '  I  will  not  hide  my  grief, 
I'll  tell  my  father  of  my  wrong,  and  he  will  yield  relief.' 
The  King,  when  he  beheld  her  near,  '  Alas  !  my  child,'  said  he, 
4  What  means  this  melancholy  cheer  1 — reveal  thy  grief  to  me.' 

•  Good  King,'  she  said,  '  my  mother  was  buried  long  ago, 
She  left  me  to  thy  keeping,  none  else  my  grief  shall  know ; 
I  fain  would  have  a  husband,  'tis  time  that  I  should  wed  ; 
Forgive  the  words  I  utter,  with  mickle  shame  they're  said.' 

'Twas  thus  the  King  made  ans\ver,-r-'  This  fault  is  none  of  mine, 
You  to  the  Prince  of  Hungary  your  ear  would  not  incline  ; 
Yet  round  us  here  where  lives  your  peer  1-rr-na.y,  name  him  if  you  can, 
Except  the  Count  Alarcos,  and  he's  a  married  man.' 

'  Ask  Count  Alarcos,  if  of  yore  his  word  he  did  not  plight 
To  be  my  husband  evermore,  and  love  me  day  and  night ; 
If  he  has  bound  him  in  new  vows,  old  oaths  he  cannot  break : 
Alas  !  I've  lost  a  loyal  spouse,  for  a  false  lover's  sake,' 


COUNT    ALARCOS    AND    THE    INFANTA   SOLISA.  189 

The  good  King  sate  confounded  in  silence  for  some  space, 

At  length  he  made  his  answer,  with  very  troubled  face  : 

1  It  was  not  thus  your  mother  gave  counsel  you  should  do ; 

You've  done  much  wrong,  my  daughter  ;  we're  shamed,  both  I  and  you. 

1  If  it  be  true  that  you  have  said,  our  honor's  lost  and  gone ; 
And  while  the  Countess  is  in  life,  remeed  for  us  is  none  : 
Though  justice  were  upon  our  side,  ill-talkers  would  not  spare  ; — 
Speak,  daughter,  for  your  mother's  dead,  whose  counsel  eased  my  care.' 

'  How  can  I  give  you  counsel  ? — but  little  wit  have  I ; 
But  certes,  Count  Alarcos  may  make  this  Countess  die  : 
Let  it  be  noised  that  sickness  cut  short  her  tender  life, 
And  then  let  Count  Alarcos  come  and  ask  me  for  his  wife. 
What  passed  between  us  long  ago,  of  that  be  nothing  said  ; 
Thus  none  shall  our  dishonor  know,  in  honor  I  shall  wed.' 

The  Count  was  standing  with  his  friends — thus  in  the  midst  he  spake  : 

*  What  fools  be  men  ! — what  boots  our  pain  for  comely  woman's  sake  ! 
I  loved  a  fair  one  long  ago  ; — though  I'm  a  married  man, 

Sad  memory  I  can  ne'er  forego,  how  life  and  love  began.' 

While  yet  the  Count  was  speaking,  the  good  King  came  full  near ; 
He  made  his  salutation  with  very  courteous  cheer. 
'  Come  hither,  Count  Alarcos,  and  dine  with  me  this  day, 
!    For  I  have  something  secret,  I  in  your  ear  must  say.' 

The  King  came  from  the  chapel,  when  he  had  heard  the  mass  ; 

With  him  the  Count  Alarcos  did  to  his  chamber  pass  ; 

Full  nobly  were  they  served  there,  by  pages  many  a  one  ; 

When  all  were  gone,  and  they  alone,  'twas  thus  the  King  begun : — 

•  What  news  be  these,  Alarcos,  that  you  your  word  did  plight, 
To  be  a  husband  to  my  child,  and  love  her  day  and  night  ] 
If  more  between  you  there  did  pass,  yourself  may  know  the  truth, 
But  shamed  is  my  gray-head — alas  ! — and  scorned  Solisa's  youth. 

'  I  have  a  heavy  word  to  speak, — a  lady  fair  doth  lie 

Within  my  daughter's  rightful  place,  and  certes  !  she  must  die. 


190  COUNT   ALARCOS   AND   THE   INFANTA   SOLISA. 

Let  it  be  noised  that  sickness  cut  short  her  tender  life, 
Then  come  and  woo  my  daughter,  and  she  shall  be  your  wife  : 
What  passed  between  you  long  ago,  of  that  be  nothing  said, 
Thus  none  shall  my  dishonor  know, — in  honor  you  shall  wed.' 

Thus  spake  the  Count  Alarcos, — '  The  truth  I'll  not  deny, 

I  to  the  Infanta  gave  my  troth,  and  broke  it  shamefully ; 

I  feared  my  King  would  ne'er  consent  to  give  me  his  fair  daughter ; 

But,  oh  !  spare  her  that's  innocent, — avoid  that  sinful  slaughter.' 

'  She  dies  !  she  dies  !'  the  King  replies  ; — 'from  thine  own  sin  it  springs, 
If  guiltless  blood  must  wash  the  blot  which  stains  the  blood  of  kings  : 
Ere  morning  dawn  her  life  must  end,  and  thine  must  be  the  deed, 
Else  thou  on  shameful  block  must  bend  :  thereof  is  no  remeed.' 

•  Good  King,  my  hand  thou  mayst  command,  else  treason  blots  my  name  ! 
I'll  take  the  life  of  my  dear  wife — (God  !  mine  be  not  the  blame  !) 
Alas  !  that  young  and  sinless  heart  for  others'  sin  should  bleed  ! 
Good  King,  in  sorrow  I  depart' '  May  God  your  errand  speed  !' 

In  sorrow  he  departed,  dejectedly  he  rode 
The  weary  journey  from  that  place  unto  his  own  abode  ; 
He  grieved  for  his  fair  countess,  dear  as  his  life  was  she  ; 
Sore  grieved  he  for  that  lady,  and  for  his  children  three. 

The  one  was  yet  an  infant  upon  its  mother's  breast, 
For  though  it  had  three  nurses,  it  liked  her  milk  the  best ; 
The  others  were  young  children,  that  had  but  little  wit, 
Hanging  about  their  mother's  knee  while  nursing  she  did  sit. 

'  Alas  !'  he  said,  when  he  had  come  within  a  little  space, — 
'  How  shall  I  brook  the  cheerful  look  of  my  kind  lady's  face  1 
To  see  her  coming  forth  in  glee  to  meet  me  in  my  hall, 
When  she  so  soon  a  corpse  must  be,  and  I  the  cause  of  all !' 

Just  then  he  saw  her  at  the  door  with  all  her  babes  appear 

(The  little  page  had  run  before  to  tell  his  lord  was  near :) 

'  Now  welcome  home,  my  lord,  my  life  ! — Alas  !  you  droop  your  head  : 

Tell,  Count  Alarcos,  tell  your  wife,  what  makes  your  eyes  so  red  V 


COUNT   ALARCOS    AND    THE    INFANTA    SOLISA.  191 

'  I'll  tell  you  all — I'll  tell  you  all :  it  is  not  yet  the  hour  ; 
We'll  sup  together  in  the  hall, — I'll  tell  you  in  your  bower.' 
The  lady  brought  forth  what  she  had,  and  down  beside  him  sate  ; 
He  sate  beside  her  pale  and  sad,  but  neither  drank  nor  ate. 

The  children  to  his  side  were  led  (he  loved  to  have  them  so,) 
Then  on  the  board  he  laid  his  head,  and  out  his  tears  did  flow  : 

•  I  fain  would  sleep — I  fain  would  sleep,'  the  Count  Alarcos  said  : 
Alas  !  be  sure,  that  sleep  was  none  that  night  within  their  bed. 

They  came  together  to  the  bower  where  they  were  used  to  rest, 

None  with  them  but  the  little  babe  that  was  upon  the  breast : 

The  count  had  barred  the  chamber  doors — they  ne'er  were  barred  till  then  ; 

1  Unhappy  lady,'  he  began,  *  and  I  most  lost  of  men  !' 

'  Now,  speak  not  so,  my  noble  lord,  my  husband,  and  my  life  ! 

Unhappy  never  can  she  be  that  is  Alarcos'  wife.' — 

1  Alas  !  unhappy  lady,  'tis  but  little  that  you  know, 

For  in  that  very  word  you've  said  is  gathered  all  your  woe. 

'  Long  since  I  loved  a  lady, — long  since  I  oaths  did  plight, 

To  be  that  lady's  husband,  to  love  her  day  and  night ; 

Her  father  is  our  lord  the  King,  to  him  the  thing  is  known, 

And  now,  that  I  the  news  should  bring  !  she  claims  me  for  her  own. 

'  Alas  !  my  love  ! — alas  !  my  life  ! — the  right  is  on  their  side  ; 
Ere  I  had  seen  your  face,  sweet  wife,  she  was  betrothed  my  bride ; 
But,  oh  !  that  I  should  speak  the  word — since  in  her  place  you  lie, 
It  is  the  bidding  of  our  Lord,  that  you  this  night  must  die.' — 

•  Are  these  the  wages  of  my  love,  so  lowly  and  so  leal  1 
Oh,  kill  me  not,  thou  noble  count,  when  at  thy  foot  I  kneel ! 
But  send  me  to  my  father's  house,  where  once  I  dwelt  in  glee, 
There  will  I  live  a  lone  chaste  life,  and  rear  my  children  three.' 

•  It  may  not  be, — mine  oath  is  strong, — ere  dawn  of  day  you  die  !' — 

•  Oh  !  well  'tis  seen  how  all  alone  upon  the  earth  am  I ; — • 
My  father  is  an  old  frail  man, — my  mother's  in  her  grave, — 
And  dead  is  stout  Don  Garci — alas  !  my  brother  brave  ! 


192  COUNT    ALAKCOS    AND    THE   INFANTA   SOLISA. 

'  'T  was  at  this  coward  King's  command  they  slew  my  brother  dear, 
And  now  I  'm  helpless  in  the  land  : — it  is  not  death  I  fear, 
But  loth,  loth  am  I  to  depart,  and  leave  my  children  so, — 
Now  let  me  lay  them  to  my  heart,  and  kiss  them  ere  I  go.' 

'  Kiss  him  that  lies  upon  thy  breast — the  rest  thou  mayst  not  see.' 
1 1  fain  would  say  an  Ave.'     '  Then  say  it  speedily.' 
She  knelt  her  down  upon  her  knee  :  '  Oh,  Lord  1  behold  my  case  } 
Judge  not  my  deeds,  but  look  on  me  in  pity  and  great  grace.' 

When  she  had  made  her  orison,  up  from  her  knees  she  rose, — 
'  Be  kind,  Alarcos,  to  our  babes,  and  pray  for  my  repose  ; 
And  now  give  me  my  boy  once  more  upon  my  breast  to  hold, 
That  he  may  drink  one  farewell  drink,  before  my  breast  be  cold.' 

1  Why  would  you  waken  the  poor  child  J  you  see  he  is  asleep  ; 
Prepare,  dear  wife,  there  is  no  time,  the  dawn  begins  to  peep.' 
'  Now  hear  me,  Count  Alarcos  !  I  give  thee  pardon  free, — 
I  pardon  thee  for  the  love's  sake  wherewith  I  've  loved  thee  ; 

1  But  they  have  not  my  pardon,  the  King  and  his  proud  daughter  : 
The  curse  of  God  be  on  them,  for  this  unchristian  slaughter  I 

;    I  charge  them  with  my  dying  breath,  ere  thirty  days  be  gone, 
To  meet  me  in  the  realm  of  death,  and  at  God's  awful  throne  !' 

\ 

|    He  drew  a  kerchief  round  her  neck,  he  drew  it  tight  and  strong, 
Until  she  lay  quite  stiff  and  cold  her  chamber  floor  along  ; 
He  laid  her  then  within  the  sheets,  and,  kneeling  by  her  side, 

To  God  and  Mary  Mother  in  misery  he  cried. 

< 

I    Then  called  he  for  his  esquires  : — oh  !  deep  was  their  dismay, 
When  they  into  the  chamber  came,  and  saw  her  how  she  lay  : 

iThus  died  she  in  her  innocence,  a  lady  void  of  wrong — 
But  God  took  heed  of  their  offence, — His  vengeance  stayed  not  long. 

Within  twelve  days,  in  pain  and  dole,  the  Infanta  passed  away, 
{    The  cruel  King  gave  up  his  soul  upon  the  twentieth  day  ; 
<    Alarcos  followed  ere  the  moon  had  made  her  round  complete  ; 
\    Three  guilty  spirits  stood  right  soon  before  God's  judgment-seat. 
ISvfo  of  tfjc  Simmsl)  Uallatrs. 


THE  BOMAMEES  ©E  §JPAI^To 


K$z  <£0r. 

1 1  'm  Rodrigo  of  Bivar, 
A  Castillian  bold  and  true. 


23 


3Ti)e  mil— part  JFitnt. 


'  I  'm  Rodrigo  of  Bivar, 
A  Castillian  good  and  true.' 

Romances  of  the  Cid. 

In  a  low  state  of  social  advancement,  poetry,  unlike  every  other  art,  may 
attain  a  very  high  degree  of  excellence,  if  not  in  delicacy  and  refinement  of 
expression,  at  least  in  elevation  of  thought  and  vigor  of  imagination.  One  of 
the  greatest  bards  the  world  has  known  was 

'  The  blind  old  man  of  Scio's  rocky  isle.' 

This  is  explained  by  the  ancient  adage  that  ■  a  man  is  born,  not  made,  a 
poet ;'  and  though  peculiar  natural  powers  are  indispensable  for  the  attain- 
ment of  excellence  in  every  art,  the  superior  simplicity  of  the  machinery  re- 
quisite for  the  expression  of  poetry,  at  least  under  certain  forms,  leaves  room 
for  a  more  free  development  of  genius. 

Metre  being  the  form  best  adapted  to  the  oral  transmission  of  events,  poetry, 
in  the  literary  history  of  every  nation,  has  had  an  origin  antecedent  to  prose. 
Homer  and  Hesiod  sung  centuries  before  Herodotus  wrote.  Ages  before  the 
prose  chronicles  of  modern  Europe  were  indited,  the  deeds  of  heroes  and 
other  striking  events  were  recorded  and  handed  down  from  generation  to 
generation  in  the  form  of  ballads,  which  in  many  instances  constitute  the 
foundation  of  the  earlier  histories  in  prose.  Every  nation  in  Europe  possesses 
its  stock  of  poetical  traditionary  lore  :  the  phlegmatic  and  meditative  Scandi- 
navian and  German,  and  the  fervid,  mercurial  child  of  the  South,  have  alike 
in  the  earliest  periods  of  their  history  chosen  poetry  as  the  medium  of  re- 
cording the  glorious  deeds  of  their  heroes,  or  whatever  occurrences  were  to 
them  fraught  with  interest. 

No  nation,  however,  can  boast  of  so  large  a  body  of  ancient  popular  poems 
as  Spain.    Several  circumstances  combine  to  explain  this  unrivalled  wealth 


196  THE   CID. 

in  ballad  literature.  The  almost  unceasing  contest  which  the  Christian 
Spaniards  maintained  for  eight  centuries  with  the  Arab  invaders  of  their  soil, 
afforded  a  long  series  of  brilliant  achievements  and  stirring  eventB  to  be  re- 
corded ;  the  intercourse  which,  notwithstanding  this  warfare,  existed  between 
the  two  nations,  sufficed  to  imbue  the  Christians  with  that  peculiar  love  of 
song  which  characterized  their  Mohammedan  foes.  But  the  principal  cause 
of  the  great  prevalence  of  ballad  poetry  among  the  Spaniards,  is  to  be  found 
in  the  extraordinary  facility  with  which  it  could  be  constructed,  owing  to  the 
flexibility  of  the  language  and  the  simplicity  of  the  metre  and  rhyme  em- 
ployed— a  simplicity  so  remarkable  that  a  bard  might  with  little  difficulty 
pour  forth  in  song  his  thoughts  as  they  arose.  '  The  most  rude  and  illiterate 
man,'  says  Duran,  a  modern  native  collector  of  Spanish  romances,*  *  might 
compose  these  loosely  formed  narrations.  Even  at  the  present  day,  though 
the  romance  has  now  acquired  such  perfection  as  to  render  it  adaptable  to 
every  class  of  compositions,  it  continues  as  subject  to  the  control  of  the  vulgar 
as  of  the  learned.  All  alike  compose  romances,  ....  and  there  is 
probably  not  to  be  found  a  single  Spaniard,  even  among  those  who  despise 
the  romance  for  its  facility  of  construction,  who  has  not  sung  of  love,  war, 
heroic  deeds,  or  fictitious  events  in  this  species  of  metrical  composition.' 

It  is  impossible  to  determine  with  accuracy  the  date  of  anonymous  poems 
orally  transmitted  through  many  ages.  It  is  evident,  however,  that  much  of 
the  ballad  poetry  of  Spain  which  has  come  down  to  us  is  of  great  antiquity, 
claiming  an  origin  anterior  to  the  most  ancient  English  ballads  extant.  Duran 
is  of  opinion  that  the  earliest  poetry  of  the  Peninsula  was  in  the  romance 
form  ;  yet  long  poems  in  Alexandrine  metre  have  been  preserved,  which  are 
on  all  hands  admitted  to  have  been  written  in  the  middle  of  the  twelfth  cen- 
tury. We  cannot  here  enter  into  a  lengthened  disquisition  on  this  subject ; 
it  is  enough  for  us  to  state  the  probability  that  Duran  is  correct.  'Although,' 
says  he,  '  none  of  the  romances  extant  are  in  every  part  anterior  to  the  four- 
teenth century,  I  think  I  can  discern  in  them  fragments  of  others  and  pro- 
verbial stanzas  of  a  much  more  remote  antiquity.'  As  the  earlier  romances 
of  Spain  were  the  productions  of  unknown  and  obscure  individuals,  they  were 
never  committed  to  writing,  but. were  handed  down  orally  through  many 
generations  ;  and  being  remodelled  and  modernized  by  each  in  succession, 


*  It  may  perhaps  be  superfluous  to  mention  that  this  word  takes  its  origin  from  the 
Romance  language,  the  corrupt  Latin  spoken  in  the  southern  countries  of  Europe  after 
the  overthrow  of  the  Western  Empire, — the  language  in  which  the  Troubadours  sung 
their  lays  and  fabliaux,  their  tales  of  love  and  chivalry. 


THE    CID.  197 

they  have  retained  so  little  of  their  original  character,  as  to  render  it  impos- 
sible to  determine  with  precision  the  century  to  which  they  belong.  Like 
old  coins,  they  have  gained  a  polish  by  passing  through  many  hands,  but 
their  original  stamp  is  effaced,  and  the  date  of  their  issue  is  no  longer  dis- 
tinguishable. 

The  romances  of  Spain  are  of  several  kinds  ; — those  which  are  considered 
to  be  strictly  historical — those  of  chivalry,  which  may  be  regarded  as  more  or 
less  founded  on  facts — those  decidedly  fictitious,  the  subjects  of  which  are 
taken  from  the  prose  chivalrous  romances  or  the  epics  of  the  Italian  poets — 
those  relating  to  love  and  pastoral  subjects — and  last,  though  not  least  in 
number  or  beauty,  those  commonly  classed  separately,  as  the  Moorish  ro- 
mances. Some  of  these,  it  is  believed,  are  actually  the  productions  of  Spanish 
Moors,  but  the  greater  part  were  written  by  Christians  of  the  sixteenth  and 
seventeenth  centuries,  and  refer  chiefly  to  the  romantic  but  unavailing  strug- 
gle of  the  high-souled  Moors  of  Granada  with  the  forces  of  Ferdinand  and 
Isabella.  As  poetical  compositions  these  rank  above  all  the  other  romances 
(for  at  this  period  ballad  literature  was  not  confined  to  the  lower  classes,  be- 
ing taken  into  favor  by  the  noble  and  the  learned,)  but  as  historical  records 
they  obtain  little  credit,  save  in  as  far  as  they  are  confirmed  by  the  prose 
chroniclers.  It  is  to  the  first-mentioned  class  of  romances,  those  viewed  as 
historical,  that  we  shall  now  confine  our  attention. 

To  the  historian  and  antiquarian  these  narrative  romances  are  full  of  inte- 
rest. In  the  early  periods  of  Spanish  history  far  more  political  liberty  was 
enjoyed,  and  much  freer  expression  of  opinion  was  allowed  than  in  later  days, 
when  Spain  was  held  in  the  iron  grasp  of  an  intolerant  and  inquisitorial 
priesthood  ;  and  the  popular  poems  of  those  early  times,  being  wholly  disre- 
garded and  uninfluenced  by  the  upper  ranks,  may  consequently  be  considered 
as  exhibiting  a  more  correct  representation  of  facts  than  the  poetry,  or  even 
professed  history,  which  springs  up  in  the  sunshine  of  courtly  favor.  It  is 
not,  however,  pretended  that  these  romances  are  to  be  implicitly  relied  on  as 
historical  or  antiquarian  authorities.  The  fact  of  their  having  been  trans- 
mitted orally  through  many  successive  ages  must  invalidate  their  testimony 
to  a  certain  extent ;  yet  there  is  no  reason  to  doubt  that  the  representations 
made  by  them  of  the  general  state  of  society  in  those  early  ages  are  accu- 
rate ;  and  that  they  have  not  in  every  instance  undergone  great  alterations  is 
evident  from  the  language  of  some  being  scarcely  less  antiquated  than  that  of 
the  earliest  Castilian  poem  extant,  written  in  the  middle  of  the  twelfth  cen- 
tury. Greater  credence  is  due  to  these  ballads  on  the  ground  that,  though 
the  productions  of  the  middle  ages — those  days  of  wild  romance — they  very 


198  THE   CID. 

rarely  overstep  the  bounds  of  possibility  :  they  are  free  from  those  absurd 
extravagancies  which  disfigure  the  prose  romances  of  chivalry.  What  little 
of  the  marvellous  they  contain  is  of  a  religious  character — a  few  saintly 
legends  sprinkled  here  and  there  throughout  a  vast  body  of  poetry,  only  in 
sufficient  quantity  to  tincture  it  with  the  peculiar  character  of  the  national 
religion  ; — such  legends  in  fact  as  a  Romanist  of  our  own  enlightened  age 
and  country  would  have  little  difficulty  in  crediting.  No  enchanters  to  whisk 
their  victims  away  a  thousand  miles  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  to  the  foul 
dungeons  of  some  subterranean  palace — no  dragons  to  devour  their  monthly 
tribute  of  denuded  virgins — no  spell-bound  knights — no  maidens  escaping 
their  pursuers,  and  preserving  their  honor  by  rendering  themselves  invisible 
with  magic  rings.  All  is  truth,  nature,  and  simplicity  in  the  Spanish  ro- 
mances. They  are  in  fact  little  more  than  simple  metrical  narrations  of 
events.  •  The  authors  of  these  romances,'  says  the  German  critic  Bouterwek, 
4  never  ventured  to  embellish  with  fictitious  circumstances  stories  which  were 
in  themselves  interesting,  lest  they  should  deprive  their  productions  of  his- 
torical credit They  paid  little  attention  to  ingenuity  of  inven- 
tion, and  still  less  to  correctness  of  execution.  When  an  impressive  story  of 
poetical  character  was  found,  the  subject  and  the  interest  belonging  to  it 
were  seized  with  so  much  truth  and  feeling,  that  the  parts  of  the  little  piece, 
the  brief  labor  of  untutored  art,  linked  themselves  together,  as  it  were,  spon- 
taneously, and  the  imagination  of  the  bard  had  no  higher  office  than  to  give 
to  the  situations  a  suitable  coloring  and  effect.  These  antique  racy  effusions 
are  nature's  genuine  offspring.  To  recount  their  easily  recognized  defects  is 
as  superfluous  as  it  would  be  impossible,  by  any  critical  study,  to  imitate  a 
single  trait  of  that  noble  simplicity  which  constitutes  their  highest  charm.' 

These  romances  may  be  said  to  form  a  connecting  link  between  poetry  and 
prose  ;  scarcely  rising  above  the  latter  in  the  display  of  fancy  and  imagina- 
tion, and  yet  retaining  the  form  and  in  some  respects  the  distinctive  character 
of  the  former.  Some  critics  have  altogether  denied  their  claim  to  the  title 
of  poetry.  '  There  is  as  wide  a  difference,'  says  Juan  del  Encina,  '  between 
a  poet  and  a  romance-maker  as  between  a  composer  of  music  and  a  mere 
singer,  as  between  a  geometrician  and  a  stone-cutter.'  Without  entirely 
concurring  in  this  opinion,  we  will  admit  that  never  does  the  Spanish  popular 
muse  aspire  to  bold  poetical  soarings.  She  is  content  with  a  lowly  flight. 
She  loves  to  dwell  on  even  the  unimportant  actions  of  her  favorite  heroes, 
and  to  sing  of  their  countenances,  their  costume,  their  weapons,  their  attend- 
ants. This  minuteness  of  description,  trivial  as  it  may  be  deemed  by  those 
who  despise  all  but  the  highest  efforts  of  the  poetical  art,  is  at  least  a  pre- 


THE    CID.  199 

sumptive  evidence  of  truth,  and  renders  these  narrative  romances  valuable 
as  pictures  of  the  manners  and  costumes,  and  as  records  of  the  popular  opi- 
nions of  the  Spaniards  of  the  middle  ages — points  on  which  the  sober  page  of 
history  is  too  often  silent.  Eut  they  are  not  utterly  devoid  of  poetic  merit ; 
for  the  narration,  however  simple,  of  events  in  themselves  often  highly  poetic, 
cannot  be  wholly  prosaic  ;  and  this  same  simplicity  of  style  has  a  charm  to 
some  minds  indescribable,  and  far  beyond  what  could  be  produced  by  a  more 
highly  wrought  or  fanciful  diction.  Moreover  the  simplicity  of  the  Spanish 
narrative  romances  occasionally  rises  into  majesty  and  even  sublimity  ;  and 
at  times  they  evince  a  Homeric  power  of  condensing  a  world  of  thought  into 
a  simple  sentence  or  word.  Then  the  noble  and  elevated  sentiments,  the 
depth  and  freshness  of  feeling,  the  tenderness,  the  pathos,  and  the  all-per- 
vading nature  and  truthfulness,  ever  awakening  the  sympathies  of  the  reader, 
make  amends  for  the  absence  of  higher  poetical  qualities. 

We  are  aware  that  Southey  has  decried  the  merits  of  the  heroic  ballads 
of  the  Spaniards,  and  pronounced  them  to  be  much  inferior  to  our  own.  To 
what  authority  this  opinion  is  entitled  we  leave  those  who  are  acquainted 
with  the  Spanish  to  judge  for  themselves.  But  waiving  the  question  of  com- 
parative literary  merit,  there  is  one  point  of  view  in  which  the  Spanish 
romances  have  indisputably  the  advantage, — it  is  the  elevated  tone  of  morality 
which  pervades  them,  and  this  is  a  feature  which  essentially  distinguishes 
them  from  those  of  England  and  other  northern  nations.  These  latter  abound 
in  evidences  of  being  the  productions  of  a  state  of  society  scarcely  emerged 
from  barbarism.  Atrocious  murders,  inhuman  cruelties,  daring  outrages  on 
person  and  property,  in  short  every  species  of  vice  and  crime  which  belongs 
to  a  rude  state  of  society,  are  dwelt  upon  in  the  early  ballads  of  our  own 
country,  not  only  without  disapprobation  or  disgust,  but  with  manifest  delight. 
But  even  the  earliest  Spanish  romances  savor  of  a  society  that  has  made  con- 
siderable advances  in  civilization  and  moral  excellence.  Their  morality  is 
not,  it  is  true,  that  which  commands  the  smitten  to  turn  his  cheek  to  the 
smiter ;  it  does  not  comprehend  extraordinary  meekness  and  humility,  for 
martial  valor  is  in  this,  as  in  the  ancient  classic  code,  esteemed  the  highest 
of  human  virtues.  But  these  romances  are  redolent  of  all  the  virtues  and 
graces  which  characterize  the  age  of  chivalry.  To  the  enthusiastic  admiration 
of  valor  is  united  a  humane  and  kindly  generosity  toward  the  weak  or  van- 
quished, and  a  pervading  gentleness  and  courtesy  ;  an  indomitable  pride  and 
self-respect  is  blended  with  a  noble  scorn  of  whatever  is  fraudulent,  base,  and 
dishonorable,  an  ardent  love  of  truth,  a  fervor  of  loyalty  to  the  sovereign  and 
of  devotion  to  the  fair  sex  equalled  only  by  the  depth  of  religious  feeling. 


I     200  THE   CID. 

i    There  is  that  union  of  stern  and  gentle  qualities,  which  is  set  forth  in  a  ballad 

\    describing  a  Moorish  knight  of  Granada,  who  is  represented  to  be 

\ 

s  '  Like  steel  amid  the  din  of  arms, 

S  Like  wax  when  with  the  fair.' 

Deeds  of  crime  are  often  narrated  by  these  romances  as  historical  facts,  but 
instead  of  being  dwelt  upon  with  zest,  they  are  in  general  depicted  with  so 
much  pathos  that  abhorrence  of  the  crime  is  heightened  by  the  sympathy 
excited  for  the  victim.  Female  frailty,  however,  appears  from  thes  ?  romances 
to  have  been  as  common  in  Spain  in  the  olden  time  as  in  our  own  day,  and 

I    to  have  been  regarded  with  eyes  no  less  lenient ;  yet  even  in  this  respect  the 

j    ballads  of  Spain  are  well  matched  by  those  of  our  own  country. 

In  giving  our  readers  some  specimens  of  Spanish  ballads,  we  select  those 

relating  to  the  Cid.     The  Cid  is  the  great  hero  of  Spanish  history,  whose 

^C^      glorious  deeds  have  for  eight  centuries  been  the  theme  of  song,  and  doubtless 

i    tended  to  fire  the  courage  of  a  Gonsalo  and  a  Cortes,  and  perhaps  in  our  own 
times  to  stir  up  many  a  Spanish  hero  to  resist  the  yoke  of  a  conqueror  greater 

;    than  they.     He  is  thus  addressed  in  one  of  the  ballads  which  recount  his 

5    history  : — 

\  '  Mighty  victor,  never  vanquish'd, 

>  Bulwark  of  our  native  land, 

Shield  of  Spain,  her  boast  and  glory, 
I  Knight  of  the  far-dreaded  brand, 

Venging  scourge  of  Moors  and  traitors, 

Mighty  thunderbolt  of  war, 
Mirror  bright  of  chivalry, 
Ruy,  my  Cid  Campeador!' 

'  Campeador'  is  a  term  hardly  translatable  into  English,  for  our  word 
1  champion,'  to  which  it  most  nearly  answers,  excites  little  of  that  proud 
triumphant  feeling  which  thrills  the  Spanish  bosom  at  the  mention  of  the 
'  Campeador.'  It  is  a  name  which  none  living  has  a  right  to  claim  but  our 
own  hero  of  a  hundred  battle-fields. 

All  the  chivalrous  virtues  are  concentrated  in  the  person  of  the  Cid.  He 
was  in  truth  a  chevalier  sans  peur  el  sans  reproche,  the  beau-ideal  of  a  knight- 
errant,  yet  not  the  mere  creation  of  fancy.  His  existence  has  indeed  been 
called  into  question  by  Masdeu  and  some  few  others,  on  the  ground  that,  as 
depicted  by  the  romances,  he  is  too  extraordinary  and  perfect  a  character  to 
be  real.  But  though  it  be  very  possible  that  the  popular  voice  has  arrayed 
its  darling  in  colors  not  his  own,  has  sung  his  praises  only  and  concealed  his 


THE   CID.  201 

defects,  there  is,  independently  of  the  romances,  such  a  mass  of  evidence  to 
prove  his  real  existence  as  must  put  the  fact  beyond  all  doubt  to  the  mind  of 
every  candid  reader,  and  assure  him  that  the  Cid  was  something  more  than  a 
mere  imaginary  embodiment  of  the  chivalrous  virtues.  Not  only  are  his 
deeds  recorded  by  a  lengthy  poem  written  within  half  a  century  of  his  death, 
as  well  as  by  the  earliest  prose  chronicles,  but  he  is  mentioned  by  the  Arab 
historians  of  Spain,  who,  while  admitting  his  victories,  depict  him  in  those 
shadowy  hues  in  which  the  vanquished  are  ever  inclined  to  regard  their  con- 
queror. The  Cid  then,  as  we  gather  his  history  from  the  numerous  romances 
which  have  come  down  to  us,  we  propose  to  introduce  to  our  readers,  trans- 
lating such  portions  of  those  poems  as  will  suffice  to  impart  a  knowledge  of 
his  history  and  give  an  insight  into  the  peculiar  character  of  Spanish  romances. 

It  may  be  as  well  to  remark,  that  all  the  romances  of  the  Cid  cannot  lay 
claim  to  an  equal  antiquity  ;  some,  as  is  evident  from  their  language,  being 
among  the  most  ancient  Spanish  romances  extant,  while  others  are  known  to 
have  been  written  as  late  as  the  sixteenth  century. 

For  the  chronological  arrangement  of  these  detached  poems,  and  to  supply 
gaps  in  the  history  occasioned  by  the  deficiencies  of  certain  romances  and 
the  loss  of  others,  we  shall  have  recourse  for  guidance  to  the  'Poem  of  the 
Cid,'  already  mentioned,  which  Southey  thinks  the  work  of  a  contemporary, 
and  says  is  '  unquestionably  the  oldest  poem  in  the  Spanish  language  ;'  and 
also  to  two  prose  •  Chronicles  of  the  Cid,'  supposed  to  have  been  written 
about  the  thirteenth  century,  but  first  printed  in  black  letter  in  the  years 
1541  and  1552  respectively.  The  latter  embodies  all  the  substance  of  the 
former,  with  much  additional  matter  ;  and  claims  to  be  a  translation  from  the 
Arabic,  though  it  is  more  probably  a  compilation  partly  from  Arabic  sources. 

We  must  say  a  few  words  on  the  structure  of  these  ballads.  They  are  in 
lines  of  seven  or  eight  syllables,  or  rather  of  three  and  a  half  or  four  feet, 
generally  trochaic  ;  but  correctness  of  quantity  was  little  regarded  by  the 
artless  writers  of  these  romances,  who  for  the  most  part  moulded  their  lines 
as  best  suited  their  convenience.  But  it  is  the  rhyme  which  constitutes  the 
peculiar  feature  in  the  structure  of  these  ballads,  and  gives  them  their  unique 
character.  It  is  what  is  called  by  the  Spaniards  the  assonant  rhyme,  to  dis- 
tinguish it  from  the  consonant  rhyme,  or  such  as  is  in  use  among  us.  The 
assonant  demands  that  the  last  vowel,  when  the  line  ends  in  a  single  syllable, 
or  that  the  last  two  vowels,  when  it  ends  in  a  trochee,  should  correspond  in 
every  alternate  line,  be  the  consonants  what  they  may.  Thus  voz,  senor, 
jurb,  son,  dos,  are  assonant  rhymes  of  the  first  sort ;  and  da.do,  malos,  dia.blo, 
cano,  Sa.ncho,  are  instances  of  trochaic  assonant     The  same  rhyme  is  con- 

C6 


202  THE    CID. 

tinued  in  alternate  lines  throughout  a  romance  ;  but  the  poem  itself  is  divided 
into  coplas  or  stanzas  of  four  lines,  occasionally  lengthened  to  six  when  this 
form  is  better  suited  to  the  convenience  of  the  writer.  In  our  translations 
we  shall  not  attempt  to  preserve  the  peculiar  rhyme,  which  is  altogether 
foreign  to  the  genius  of  the  English  language  ;  for  though  the  Spaniards  are 
from  habitude  capable  of  thoroughly  comprehending  and  enjoying  the  harmo- 
nies of  the  assonant,  it  would  to  an  English  ear  cease  to  be  rhyme  at  all. 
Nor  shall  we  imitate  the  monorhymic  verse,  which  is  scarcely  attainable  in 
our  inflexible  language.  We  shall  nevertheless  adhere  to  the  trochaic  mea- 
sure, endeavoring  to  represent  in  English  not  only  the  sentiments  and  expres- 
sions, but  as  nearly  as  possible  the  style  and  dress  of  the  Spanish  romances. 


arjje  (Ettr.— $art  Secontt. 


'  Vengeance  is  secure  to  him 
Who  doth  arm  himself  with  right.' 

Romances  of  Ike  Cid. 

Rodrigo  (or,  as  he  is  commonly  called,  Ruy)  Diaz  de  Bivar,  the  Cid,  was 
born  at  Burgos  in  the  year  1025.  At  that  period  the  greater  part  of  the 
Peninsula  was  in  the  hands  of  the  Arabs,  who  had  invaded  it  more  than  three 
centuries  before.  The  handful  of  Goths  who  had  remained  unconquered 
among  the  mountains  of  the  Asturias,  had,  by  gradual  inroads  upon  the  Mos- 
lem territory,  so  extended  their  dominion  as  by  this  time  to  have  regained 
possession  of  the  north-western  quarter  of  the  Peninsula,  i.  e.  Galicia,  the 
Asturias,  Leon,  Old  Castile,  the  northern  half  of  Portugal,  Biscay,  and  Na- 
varre, beside  part  of  the  provinces  of  Aragon  and  Catalonia.  This  territory 
was  divided  into  several  petty  kingdoms  or  counties,  the  principal  of  which, 
soon  after  the  birth  of  Ruy  Diaz,  were  united  under  the  authority  of  Fer- 
nando I.,  founder  of  the  Castillian  monarchy.  The  rest  of  the  Peninsula, 
which  for  three  centuries  after  the  conquest  had  been  subject  to  the  Arabian 
khalifs  of  Cordoba,  was  also,  at  the  period  we  treat  of,  divided  into  a  number 
of  petty  states,  governed  by  independent  sovereigns.  Having  thus  premised, 
we  return  to  our  hero. 


THE    CID. 


203 


The  father  of  Rodrigo  was  Don  Diego  Lainez,  the  representative  of  an 
'  ancient,  wealthy,  and  noble  race,'  claiming  his  descent  fourth  from  Lain 
Calvo,  one  of  the  two  nobles  elected  by  the  Castillians  in  the  preceding  cen- 
tury to  the  supreme  power  under  the  name  of  '  Judges  of  Castile" — a  title, 
says  the  historian  Mariana,  preferred  to  all  others,  as  that  which  could  least 
easily  be  made  available  for  attacks  on  popular  liberty,  of  which  the  Spa- 
niards of  those  days  were  extremely  jealous.  That  Lain  Calvo  was  a  great 
man  in  his  day  is  evident  from  the  pride  with  which  the  Cid  claims  him  as  a 
forefather  ;  and  we  have  ourselves  seen  on  the  great  gate  of  Santa  Maria  at 
Burgos  a  statue  to  his  honor,  with  an  inscription  styling  him  '  a  most  brave 
citizen,  the  sword  and  buckler  of  the  city.'  Of  the  mother- of  the  Cid  the 
romances  make  no  mention,  but  on  her  tomb  in  the  monastery  of  San  Pedro 
de  Cardena  near  Burgos,  she  is  called  '  Dona  Teresa,  daughter  of  the  Count 
Don  Nuno  Alvarez' — a  fact  of  importance,  inasmuch  as  it  shows  the  pedigree 
of  the  Cid  to  have  been  noble  on  both  sides. 

When  Rodrigo  was  a  mere  stripling,  his  father  Diego  Lainez  was  grossly 
insulted  by  the  haughty  and  powerful  Count  of  Gormaz,  Don  Lozano  Gomez, 
who  dared  even  to  smite  him  in  the  presence  of  the  king  and  his  court  The 
romances  picture  the  consequent  deep  dejection  of  the  worthy  hidalgo,  who, 
on  account  of  his  great  age,  despaired  of  obtaining  vengeance  of  his  powerful 
foe,  and  sat  gloomily  brooding  over  his  disgrace  : 

'  Sleep  was  banish 'd  from  his  eyelids ; 
Not  a  mouthful  could  he  taste  ; 
There  he  sat  with  downcast  visage, — 
Direly  had  he  been  disgrac'd. 

1  Never  stirr'd  he  from  his  chamber ; 

With  no  friends  would  he  converse, 
Lest  the  breath  of  his  dishonor 

Should  pollute  them  with  its  curse.' 

At  length  he  called  together  his  sons,  and  seizing  their  tender  hands — ten- 
der, the  romance  seems  to  imply,  as  much  on  account  of  their  high  birth,  as  of 
their  age — he  grasped  them  so  rudely  that  they  cried  him  mercy.  But  the 
hot  blood  of  Rodrigo  fired  at  this  treatment,  and  he  fiercely  exclaimed — 

'  Loose  me,  sire  !  and  ill  betide  thee  '. 
Curse  upon  thee  ! — let  me  go  ] 
Wert  thou  other  than  my  father, 
Heavens  !  I  would  smite  thee  low  ! 


'  With  this  hand  thou  wring' st  I  'd  tear  the 
Tear  thy  heart  from  out  thy  breast !' 


204  THE   CID. 

The  lad's  fury,  instead  of  enraging,  cheers  and  delights  the  old  man,  who, 
with  tears  of  joy,  calls  him  '  the  son  of  his  soul !'  acquaints  him  with  the  in- 
dignity done  him,  gives  him  his  blessing  and  sword,  and  entrusts  him  with 
the  execution  of  his  vengeance,  as  the  only  one  of  his  kindred  worthy  of  such 
an  emprise.  The  youth  joyfully  accepts  it,  and  takes  leave  of  his  father, 
praying  him  to  '  heed  not  the  wrong,  for  when  the  Count  insulted  him,  he 
knew  not  of  his  son.' 

No  light  undertaking,  however,  was  this,  and  so  thought  Rodrigo,  when  he 
called  to  mind  his  tender  years,  and  the  power  of  his  adversary,  whose  arm 
was  ever  mightiest  in  the  field,  whose  vote  ever  first  in  the  councils  of  the 
king,  and  at  whose  call  a  thousand  brands  would  flash  from  the  Asturian 
mountains.  Yet  all  this  seemed  little  in  comparison  with  his  father's  indig- 
nity, the  first  ever  offered  to  the  house  of  Lain  Calvo  ;  and  he  resolved  to  risk 
his  life  for  honor's  sake,  as  became  a  valiant  hidalgo.*  Down  he  takes  an  old 
sword,  with  which,  in  times  past,  Mudara,  the  bold  bastard,  had  taken  deadly 
vengeance  on  Rodrigo  de  Lara,  who  had  murdered  the  seven  Infantes  his 
brothers.  This  sword  the  young  Rodrigo  apostrophises  ere  he  girds  it  on  : 
'  Take  heed,  thou  valiant  sword,  that  the  arm  that  wields  thee  is  that  of 
Mudara.  Firm  as  thine  own  steel  shalt  thou  behold  me  in  the  fight ;  yea, 
thy  second  lord  will  prove  as  valiant  as  thy  first  Shouldst  thou  be  overcome 
through  my  cowardice,  then  will  I  sheath  thee  in  my  bosom  up  to  the  cross 
of  thy  hilt.f  Let  us  hasten  to  vengeance^ — lo  !  this  is  the  hour  to  give  the 
Count  Lozano  the  punishment  he  meriteth.' 

Having  thus  exalted  his  courage,  he  goes  forth  and  meets  the  Count ;  and 
accuses  him  of  unknightly  and  cowardly  conduct  in  striking  an  old  man  in 
the  face,  and  that  man  an  hidalgo  ;  reminding  him  that  those  who  have  noble 
escutcheons  cannot  brook  wrongs  : 

'  How  durst  thou  to  smite  my  father  ? 

Craven  caitiff!  know  that  none 
Unto  him  shall  do  dishonor, 
While  I  live,  save  God  alone. 


*  Hidalgo  is  a  contraction  of  hijo  de  algo — literally,  son  of  something. 

t  It  was  the  custom  in  the  middle  ages  to  make  swords  with  hilts  of  this  form,  in  order 
that  they  might  answer  the  purposes  of  religion  as  well  as  of  destruction.  When  a  knight 
fell  on  the  field  of  battle,  the  hilt  of  his  sword  was  held  to  his  lips  instead  of  a  crucifix, 
and  in  his  last  moments  he  was  comforted  and  cheered  by  this  emblem  of  his  faith.  We 
have  seen  in  the  Royal  Armory  at  Madrid  a  number  of  swords  purporting  to  have  be- 
longed to  the  earliest  heroes  of  Christian  Spain,  most  of  which  have  cruciform  hilts. 


THE   CID.  205 

'  For  this  wrong  I  must  have  vengeance — 
Traitor,  here  I  thee  defy  ! 
With  thy  blood  alone  my  sire 
Can  wash  out  his  infamy  !' 

The  Count,  despising  his  youth,  replies  with  a  sneer, 

1  Go,  rash  boy !  go,  lest  I  scourge  thee — 
Scourge  thee  like  an  idle  page.' 

Rodrigo  burning  with  wrath,  draws  his  sword  and  cries — 'Villain,  come  on ! 
Right  and  nobility  on  my  side  are  worth  a  dozen  comrades.'  They  fight — 
Rodrigo  prevails,  slays  the  Count,  cuts  off"  his  head,  and  returns  with  it  in 
triumph  to  his  father's  house. 

Don  Diego  was  sitting  at  his  board,  weeping  sorely  for  his  shame,  when 
Rodrigo  entered,  bearing  the  bleeding  head  of  the  Count  by  the  forelock. 
Seizing  his  father's  arm,  he  shook  him  from  his  reverie,  and  said — 

'  See  !  I  've  brought  the  poisonous  weed — 
Feed  upon  it  with  delight. 
Raise  thy  face,  oh,  father  mine  ! 
Ope  thine  eyes  upon  this  sight. 

'  Lay  aside  this  grievous  sorrow — 

Lo  !  thine  honor  is  secure  ; 
Vengeance  hast  thou  now  obtained, 

From  all  stain  of  shame  art  pure. 

'  Ne'er  again  thy  foe  can  harm  thee  ; 

All  his  pride  is  now  laid  low  ; 

Vain  his  hand  is  now  to  smite  thee, 

And  this  tongue  is  silent  now. 

'  Well  have  I  aveng'd  thee,  father ! 
Well  have  sped  me  in  the  fight. 
For  to  him  is  vengeance  certain 
Who  doth  arm  himself  with  right.' 

The  old  man  answered  not,  so  that  his  son  fancied  he  was  dreaming,  but 
after  awhile  he  raised  his  head,  and  with  eyes  full  of  tears  thus  spake  : — 

'  Son  of  my  soul,  my  brave  Rodrigo, 
Hide  that  visage  from  my  sight ; 
God  !  my  feeble  heart  is  bursting, 
So  full  is  it  of  delight. 


206  the  cm. 

'  Ah !  thou  caitiff  count  Lozano ! 

Heaven  hath  well  aveng'd  my  wrong ; 
Right  hath  nerv'd  thine  arm,  Rodrigo — 
Right  hath  made  the  feeble  strong. 

'  At  the  chief  place  of  my  table, 

Sit  thee  henceforth  in  my  stead  ; 

He  who  such  a  head  hath  brought  me, 

Of  my  house  shall  be  the  head.' 

Forth  rode  Diego  Lainez  to  kiss  the  hand  of  '  the  good  king'  Ferdinand, 
with  three  hundred  hidalgos  in  his  train,  and  among  them  rode  ■  Rodrigo,  the 
proud  Castillian.' 

'  All  these  knights  on  mules  are  mounted — 

Ruy  a  war-horse  doth  bestride  ; 

1  All  wear  gold  and  silken  raiment — 

Ruy  in  mailed  steel  doth  ride ; 

'  All  are  girt  with  jewell'd  falchions — 
Ruy  with  a  gold-hilted  brand ; 
All  a  pair  of  wands  come  bearing — 
Ruy  a  glittering,  lance  in  hand ; 

'  All  wear  gloves  with  perfume  scented — 
Ruy  a  mailed  gauntlet  rude ; 
All  wear  caps  of  gorgeous  colors — 
Ruy  a  casque  of  temper  good.' 

As  they  ride  on  towards  Burgos,  they  see  the  king  approaching.  His 
attendants  tell  him  that  yonder  band  is  led  by  him  who  slew  the  Count 
Lozano.  When  Rodrigo  drew  near,  and  heard  them  thus  conversing,  he 
fixed  his  eyes  steadfastly  upon  them,  and  exclaimed  with  a  loud  and  haughty 

voice — 

'  Is  there  'mong  ye  of  his  kindred 
One  to  whom  the  Count  was  dear, 
Who  doth  for  his  death  seek  vengeance  ? 
Lo !  I  wait  his  challenge  here. 

'  Let  him  come,  on  foot — on  horseback ; 
Here  I  stand — his  enemy.' 

The  courtiers,  however,  were  awed  by  the  youth's  boldness  and  impetu- 
osity, and 

'  With  one  voice  they  all  exclaimed, 
Let  the  foul  fiend  challenge  thee  !' 


THE    CID.  207 

Diego  Lainez  and  all  his  followers  then  dismounted  to  kiss  the  king's 
hand ;  Rodrigo  alone  sat  still  on  his  steed.  His  father,  vexed  at  this,  called 
to  him — 

'  Come,  my  son,  dismount,  I  pray  thee ; 
Kneel,  the  king's  right  hand  to  kiss; 
Thou  his  vassal  art,  Rodrigo, — 
He  thy  lord  and  master  is.' 

The  proud  spirit  of  the  youth  could  not  brook  to  be  thus  reminded  of  his 
inferiority  ;  *  he  felt  himself  much  aggrieved,'  and  fiercely  cried — 

1  Had  another  such  words  utter'd, 

Sorely  had  he  rued  the  day ; 
But  sith  it  is  thou,  my  father, 
I  thy  bidding  will  obey.' 

As  he  knelt  accordingly  to  do  homage  to  the  king,  his  sword  flew  half  out 
of  its  scabbard,  which  so  alarmed  the  monarch,  who  knew  the  fierceness  of 
the  young  hero,  that  he  cried — '  Out  with  thee  !  stand  back,  Rodrigo  !  away 
from  me,  thou  devil !  Thou  hast  the  shape  of  a  man,  but  the  air  of  a  furious 
lion.'     Rodrigo  sprang  to  his  feet ;  called  for  his  horse,  and  angrily  replied — 

'  Troth !  no  honor  do  I  count  it, 

Thus  to  stoop  and  kiss  thy  hand  ; 
And  my  sire,  in  that  he  kiss'd  it, 
Hath  disgrac'd  me  in  the  land.' 

With  these  words  he  leaped  into  the  saddle,  and  rode  away  with  his  three 
hundred  followers. 


£fje  <£ttr.-$art  arfjCrtr, 


1  Justice,  king  !  I  sue  for  justice — 
Vengeance  on  a  traitorous  knight. 
Grant  it  me  ! — so  shall  thy  children 
Thrive,  and  prove  thy  soul's  delight.' 


Loud  shouts  and  cries,  mingled  with  the  clashing  of  arms,  aroused  the 
court  in  the  royal  palace  at  Burgos.  In  great  astonishment  King  Ferdinand 
and  his  ricoshomes,  or  nobles,  descended  to  the  gate,  and  there  found  Ximena 
Gomez,  daughter  of  the  Count  Lozano,  attended  by  a  numerous  train.  She 
was  clad  in  robes  of  black  ;  a  gauze  veil  of  the  same  hue  covered  her  head ; 
her  hair  hung  in  long  and  dishevelled  tresses  over  her  fair  neck,  and  tears 
were  streaming  from  her  eyes.  She  fell  on  her  knees  at  the  king's  feet, 
crying  for  justice  against  him  who  had  slain  her  father  : 

'  Justice,  king!  I  sue  for  justice — 
Vengeance  on  a  traitorous  knight. 
Grant  it  me  ! — so  shall  thy  children 
Thrive,  and  prove  thy  soul's  delight. 

'  Like  to  God  himself  are  monarchs 
Set  to  govern  on  this  earth, 
All  the  vile  and  base  to  punish, 
And  to  guerdon  virtuous  worth. 

'  But  the  king  who  doth  not  justice 

Ne'er  the  sceptre  more  should  sway — 
Ne'er  should  nobles  pay  him  homage — 
Vassals  ne'er  his  hests  obey  : 

'  Never  should  he  mount  a  charger — 

Never  more  should  gird  the  sword — 
Never  with  his  queen  hold  converse — 
Never  sit  at  royal  board.' 


Her  eye  then  fell  on  Rodrigo,  who  stood  among  the  attendant  nobles 


'  Thou  hast  slain  the  best  and  bravest 
That  e'er  set  a  lance  in  rest, 
Of  our  holy  faith  the  bulwark — 
Terror  of  each  Paynim  breast. 

'  Traitorous  murderer,  slay  me  also ! 
Though  a  woman,  slaughter  me ! 
Spare  not — I'm  Ximena  Gomez, 
Thine  eternal  enemy ! 

1  Here's  my  throat — smite,  I  beseech  thee  ! 
Smite,  and  fatal  be  thy  blow  ! 
Death  is  all  I  ask,  thou  caitiff, — 
Grant  this  boon  unto  thy  foe.' 

Not  a  word  did  Rodrigo  reply,  but  seizing  the  bridle  of  his  steed,  he  vaulted 
into  the  saddle,  and  rode  slowly  away.  Ximena  turned  to  the  crowd  of  nobles, 
and  seeing  that  none  prepared  to  follow  him  and  take  up  her  cause,  she  cried 
aloud,  ■  Vengeance,  sirs  !  I  pray  ye,  vengeance  !'  A  second  time  did  the 
damsel  disturb  the  king,  when  at  a  banquet,  with  her  cries  for  justice.  She 
had  now  a  fresh  complaint : 

'  Every  day  at  early  morning, 
To  despite  me  more,  I  wist, 
He  who  slew  my  sire  doth  ride  by, 
With  a  falcon  on  his  fist. 

'  At  my  tender  doves  he  flies  it ; 
Many  of  them  hath  it  slain. 
See !  their  blood  hath  dyed  my  garment* 
With  full  many  a  crimson  stain. 

'  List ! — The  king  who  doth  not  justice, 
He  deserveth  not  to  reign ;'  &c. 

and  she  rebuked  the  king  in  the  same  strain  as  on  the  occasion  of  her  former 
complaint  Fernando,  partaking  of  the  superstition  of  the  age,  did  not  relish 
her  implied  curses,  and  began  to  ponder  on  the  course  he  had  to  pursue. 
•  God  in  Heaven  help  me  and  lend  me  his  counsel !  If  I  imprison  the  youth, 
or  put  him  to  death,  my  Cortes  will  revolt,  for  the  love  they  bear  him  ;  if  I 
fail  to  punish  him,  God  will  call  my  soul  to  account.  I  will  at  all  events  send 
a  letter  forthwith,  and  summon  him  to  my  presence.' 

n 


}     210  THE   CID. 

This  letter  was  put  into  the  hands  of  Diego  Lainez.     Rodrigo  asked  to  see 

it,  but  the  old  man,  suspecting  some  sinister  design  against  his  boy,  refused 

'<;    to  show  it,  saying,  ■  It  is  nothing,  save  a  summons  for  thee  to  go  to  Burgos  ; 

I    but  tarry  thou  here,  my  son,  and  I  will  go  in  thy  stead.'     '  Never  !'  replied 

;    the  youth, — 

'  Ne'er  would  God  or  Holy  Mary 
Suffer  me  this  thing  to  do. 
To  what  place  soe'er  thou  goest, 
Thither  I  before  thee  go.' 

How  tender  is  the  filial  affection  here  betrayed  by  the  Cid,  and  yet  is  it  by 
no  means  inconsistent  with  the  fierce  burst  of  passion  which  the  paternal 
squeeze  had  before  called  forth. 

That  Rodrigo  was  not  punished  is  evident,  for  Ximena  repeated  her  visit  to 
the  king  a  third  and  a  fourth  time,  still  demanding  vengeance.  On  this  latter 
occasion  she  was  attended  by  thirty  squires  of  noble  blood,  arrayed  in  long 
robes  of  black  which  swept  the  ground  behind  them.  The  king  was  sitting 
on  his  high-backed  chair  listening  to  the  complaints  of  his  subjects,  and  dis- 
pensing justice,  rewarding  the  good  and  punishing  the  bad,  for  '  thus  are 
vassals  made  good  and  faithful.'  The  mace-bearers  being  commanded  to  quit 
the  royal  presence,  Ximena  fell  on  her  knees  and  renewed  her  complaint : 

'  King  !  six  moons  have  past  away 
Since  my  sire  was  reft  of  life, 
By  a  youth  whom  thou  dost  cherish 
For  such  deeds  of  murderous  strife. 

'  Four  times  have  I  cried  thee  justice — 
Four  times  have  I  sued  in  vain  ; 
Promises  I  get  in  plenty — 
Justice  none  can  I  obtain.' 

The  king  thus  comforts  her  : 

'  Say  no  more,  oh,  noble  damsel ! 

Thy  complaints  would  soften  down 
Bosoms  were  they  hard  as  iron, — 
Melt  them  were  they  cold  as  stone, 

'  If  I  cherish  Don  Rodrigo, 
For  thy  weal  I  keep  the  boy  ; 
Soon,  I  trow,  will  this  same  gallant 
Turn  thy  mourning  into  joy.' 


THE  cn>.  211 

Fernando  probably  saw,  what  the  damsel  herself  did  not  understand,  that 
Rodrigo's  hawking  at  her  doves  in  his  daily  rides  by  her  dwelling,  was  but  a 
rough  mode  of  courtship,  intimating  that  he  himself  was  flying  at  higher 
game  in  their  mistress. 

The  second  feat  of  arms  achieved  by  our  young  hero  was  his  conquest  of 
five  Moorish  chiefs,  or  kings,  as  the  romances  term  them,  who  had  made  a 
foray  into  the  territory  of  Castile.  They  had  ravaged  the  land  nearly  to  the 
gates  of  Burgos,  the  capital,  every  where  unresisted  ;  had  taken  many  cap- 
tives and  a  vast  booty,  and  were  returning  in  triumph,  when  Rodrigo,  then 
but  a  beardless  youth,  who  had  not  seen  twenty  summers,  mounted  his  steed 
Babieca,  gathered  a  host  of  armed  men,  fell  suddenly  upon  the  Moors  as  they 
were  crossing  the  mountains  of  Oca,  routed  them  with  great  slaughter,  and 
captured  the  five  kings,  with  all  their  slaves  and  booty. 

•   '  Rodrigo  Diaz.,  great  his  honor  ; 

Beardless  tho'  he  be,  and  tender, 
To  him  princes  five  of  Moordom 
Fealty  and  trihute  render.' 

The  spoil  he  divided  among  his  followers,  but  reserved  the  kings  for  his  own 
share,  and  carried  them  home  to  his  castle  of  Bivar,  to  present  them  as  proofs 
of  his  prowess  to  his  mother.  With  his  characteristic  generosity,  which  was 
conspicuous  even  at  this  early  age,  he  then  set  them  at  liberty,  on  their 
agreeing  to  pay  him  tribute  ;  and  they  departed  to  their  respective  lands, 
extolling  his  valor  and  magnanimity. 

The  fame  of  this  exploit  soon  spread  far  and  wide  through  the  land,  and, 
as  martial  valor  was  in  those  chivalrous  times  the  surest  passport  to  ladies' 
favor,  it  must  have  had  its  due  effect  on  Ximena's  mind,  and  will  in  a  great 
measure  account  for  the  entire  change  in  her  sentiments  towards  the  youth 
which  she  manifested  on  her  fifth  visit  to  the  palace  at  Burgos.  Falling  on 
her  knees  before  the  king,  she  spoke  thus  : — 

'  I  am  daughter  of  Don  Gomez, 
Count  of  Gormaz  was  he  high), 
Him  Rodrigo  by  his  valor 
Did  o'erthrow  in  mortal  fight. 

'  King !  I  come  to  crave  a  favor —  { 

This  the  boon  for  which  I  pray, 
That  thou  give  me  this  Rodrigo 
For  my  wedded  lord  this  day. 


212  THE    CID. 

'  Happy  shall  I  deem  my  wedding, 
Yea,  mine  honor  will  be  great, 

!For  right  sure  am  I  his  fortune 
Will  advance  him  in  the  state. 

'  Grant  this  precious  boon,  I  pray  thee  f 

i'Tis  a  duty  thou  dost  owe ; 
For  the  great  God  hath  commanded 
That  we  should  forgive  a  foe. 

'  Freely  will  1  grant  him  pardon 

That  he  slew  my  much-loved  sire, 
If  with  gracious  ear  he  hearken 
To  my  bosom's  fond  desire.' 

|  '  Now  I  see,'  said  the  king,  '  how  true  it  is  what  I  have  often  heard,  that 

j  the  will  of  woman  is  wild  and  strange.     Hitherto  this  damsel  hath  sought 

|  deadly  vengeance  on  the  youth,  and  now  she  would  have  him  to  husband. 

!  Howbeit,  with  right  good-will,  I  will  grant  what  she  desireth.'     He  sent  at 

\  once  for  Rodrigo,  who,  with  a  train  of  three  hundred  young  nobles,  his  friends 

i  and  kinsmen,  all  arrayed  in  new  armor  and  robes  of  a  similar  color,  obeyed 

\  with  all  speed  the  royal  summons.     The   king  rode  forth  to  meet  him,  '  for 

\  right  well  did  he  love  Rodrigo,'  and  opened  the  matter  to  him,  promising  him 

I  great  honors  and  much  land  if  he  would  make  Ximena  his  bride.     Rodrigo, 

I  who  desired  nothing  better,  at  once  acquiesced  : 

'  King  and  lord  !  right  well  it  pleaseth 
Me  thy  wishes  to  fulfil ; 
In  this  thing,  as  in  all  others, 
I  obey  thy  sovereign  will.' 

The  young  pair  then  plighted  their  troth  in  presence  of  the  king,  and  in 
1    pledge  thereof  gave  him  their  hands.     He  kept  his  promise,  and  gave  Rodrigo 
Valduerna,  Saklana,  Belforado,  and  San  Pedro  de  Cardena,  for  a  marriage 
I    portion. 

;  On  the  day  appointed,  Rodrigo  was  arrayed  by  his  brothers  for  the  wedding. 
\  Having  doffed  his  well-burnished  and  graven  armor,  he  put  on  first  a  pair  of 
\  galligaskins,  or  long  loose  drawers,  with  fringes  of  purple,  then  his  hose,  and 
J  over  both  a  wide  pair  of  Walloon  breeches,  'such  as  were  worn  in  that  golden 
age,'  saith  the  romance.  His  shoes  were  of  cow's  leather  and  scarlet  cloth, 
fastened  over  the  instep  with  buckles.  His  shirt  was  even-edged,  without 
fringe,  embroidery,  or  stiffening,  *  for  starch  was  then  food  for  children  ;'  his 
doublet  or  waistcoat  was  of  black  satin,  with  loose  sleeves,  and  quilted 


THE    CID.  213 

throughout,  the  which  doublet  '  hie  father  had  sweated  in  three  or  four  bat- 
tles ;'  over  this  he  wore  a  slashed  leathern  jerkin  or  jacket,  ■  in  memory  of  the 
many  slashes  he  had  given  in  the  field,*  a  German  cloak  lined  with  plush,  and 
a  cap  of  fine  Flemish  cloth  with  a  single  cock's  feather,  completed  his  cos- 
tume. But  we  must  not  forget  his  sword  Tizona,  '  the  terror  of  the  world,'f 
which  he  girt  about  him  with  a  new  belt,  which,  says  the  romance,  'cost 
him  four  quartos,'  a  sum  that  might  have  been  considerable  in  those  days,  but 
is  now  only  a  fraction  more  than  an  English  penny.  Thus  gaily  attired,  he 
descended  to  the  court  of  the  palace,  where  the  king,  his  nobles,  and  the 
bishop  who  was  to  perform  the  ceremony,  awaited  him  on  foot.  All  then 
moved  in  procession  to  the  church  to  the  sound  of  music,  Rodrigo  walking  in 
the  midst. 

After  awhile  came  Ximena,  with  a  veil  over  her  head,  and  her  hair  dressed 
out  in  large  flaps  hanging  down  over  her  ears.  She  wore  an  embroidered 
gown  of  fine  London  cloth,  and  a  close-fitting  spencer  with  a  flap  behind. 
She  walked  on  high-heeled  clogs  of  red  leather.  A  necklace  of  eight  medals 
or  plates  of  gold,  with  a  small  pendent  image  of  St.  Michael,  which  together 
were  '  worth  a  city,'  encircled  her  neck. 

The  happy  pair  met,  seized  each  other's  hands,  and  embraced.     Then  said 
Rodrigo  with  great  emotion,  as  he  gazed  on  his  bride — 
'  I  did  slay  thy  sire,  Ximena, 

But,  God  wot,  not  traitorously; 
'Twas  in  open  fight  I  slew  him  : 
Sorely  had  he  wronged  me. 

'  A  man  I  slew — a  man  I  give  thee — 
Here  I  stand  thy  will  to  bide  ! 
Thou,  in  place  of  a  dead  father, 
Hast  a  husband  at  thy  side. 

'  AH  approved  well  his  prudence 
And  extolled  him  with  zeal : 
Thus  they  celebrate  the  nuptials 
Of  Rodrigo  of  Castile.' 

*  If  we  may  rely  on  the  authenticity  of  a  suit  of  armor  shown  in  the  Royal  Armory  at 
Madrid  as  that  of  the  Cid,  these  slashes  must  have  been  fashionable  in  Spain  at  a  very 
early  age,  for  on  the  cuirass  of  that  suit  are  engraved  rude  figures  of  men  with  short 
slashed  breeches. 

t  Here  the  romance  is  guilty  of  an  anachronism  ;  for,  according  to  the  chronicle,  the 
poem,  and  other  romances,  Tizona  did  not  become  the  property  of  the  Cid  till  many  years 
after,  when  he  won  it  from  the  Moorish  king  Bucar  beneath  the  walls  of  Valencia. 


214  THE   CID. 

Another  romance,  apparently  of  more  modern  date,  describes  the  wedding 
costume  of  the  Cid  with  equal  minuteness,  but  very  differently,  dressing  him 
in  a  doublet  of  dove-colored  satin,  light  scarlet  hose,  and  slashed  shoes  of 
yellow  silk,  a  short-jacket  with  sleeves  closely  plaited  beneath  the  shoulder,  a 
folded  handkerchief  hanging  from  his  girdle,  a  collar  of  gold  and  precious 
stones  about  his  neck,  and  a  short  black  cloak  with  hood  and  sleeves  over  all. 
This  costume  appears  to  belong  to  a  less  remote  age  than  the  former ;  but 
we  have  no  means  of  determining  the  question,  as  the  chronicles  are  wholly 
silent  on  the  subject. 

A  third  romance  gives  an  animated  description  of  the  procession  from  the 
church  to  the  royal  palace,  where  the  wedding  feast  was  laid  out,  and  tells  us 
how  the  streets  of  Burgos*  were  strewn  with  boughs  of  sweet  cypress — how 
flowered  cloths  were  hung  from  the  windows — how  the  king  had  raised  a  fes- 
tive arch  of  great  elegance  at  the  cost  of  thirty-four  quartos — how  minstrels 
sung  their  lays  to  the  honor  of  the  wedded  pair — and  how  buffoons  and  merry- 
andrews  danced  and  played  their  antics,  one  with  bladders  in  hand,  another 
in  the  disguise  of  a  bull,  and  a  third  in  the  likeness  of  a  demon,  to  whom  the 
king  gave  sixteen  maravedis,  '  because  he  scared  the  women  well.'  At  the 
head  of  the  procession  marched  the  bridegroom  and  the  bishop  who  had  per- 
formed the  ceremony,  with  their  attendants  ;  then  followed  a  crowd  of  these 
boisterous  merry-makers  ;  and  the  king,  leading  the  fair  Ximena  by  the  hand, 
with  the  queen  and  many  a  veiled  lady,  brought  up  the  rear.  As  they  passed 
through  the  streets,  wheat  was  showered  from  the  windows  upon  the  bride — 
a  mute  but  emphatic  expression  of  a  desire  that  she  might  prove  prolific.  The 
seeds  fell  thick  on  the  neck  and  into  the  bosom  of  the  blushing  Ximena,  and 
the  king  officiously  plucked  them  forth  with  his  own  hand ;  whereat  exclaimed 
the  wag  Suero — 

'  '  'Tis  a  fine  thing  to  be  a  king,  but  Heaven  make  me  a  hand  !' 

The  king  was  very  merry  when  he  was  told  of  this, 
And  swore  the  bride,  ere  eventide,  should  give  the  boy  a  kiss. 

'  The  king  went  always  talking,  but  she  held  down  her  head, 

And  seldom  gave  an  answer  to  any  thing  he  said  : 
It  was  better  to  be  silent,  among  such  a  crowd  of  folk, 

Than  utter  words  so  meaningless  as  she  did  when  she  spoke.' 

*  The  romances  are  not  agreed  as  to  whether  the  wedding  was  celebrated  at  Burgos  or 
Palencia,  but  the  chronicles  determine  it  to  have  been  at  the  latter  city. 


&bt  (tin.— part  iFourtfj, 


'  Of  the  king  right  well  beloved 

Was  Rodrigo  of  Bivar; 
For  his  mighty  deeds  of  valor 

Through  the  world  renowned  far.' 


What  Bucephalus  was  to  Alexander,  Babieca  was  to  the  Cid — a  faithful 
servant  through  a  long  course  of  difficulty  and  danger,  and  a  sharer  of  his 
perils  on  many  a  battle-field.  Like  the  Grecian  steed,  Babieca  fell  into  the 
hands  of  his  master  when  he  was  but  a  youth  ;  but  had  the  better  fortune  not 
only  to  survive  his  lord,  rendering  him  good  service  even  after  his  death,  but 
to  end  a  life  of  warfare  in  peace.  The  word  Babieca  signifies  noodle,  booby — 
a  strange  cognomen  for  a  beast  which  is  said  to  have  been  '  more  like  a  ra- 
tional being  than  a  brute  ;'  but  why  he  wras  thus  called  is  explained  by  the 


Chronicle,  which  says  that  Rodrigo,  when  a  youth,  asked  his  god-father,  Don 
Peyre  Pringos,  for  a  colt ;  and  the  worthy  priest  took  him  out  into  a  paddock 
where  his  brood-mares  were  feeding,  in  order  that  he  might  make  his  choice ;  ^ 
but  Rodrigo  '  suffered  the  mares  and  their  colts  to  pass  out  and  took  none  of 
them ;  and  last  of  all  came  forth  a  mare  with  a  colt  right  ugly  and  scabby,  and,  j 
said  he,  '  This  colt  will  I  have.'  But,  said  his  god-father  with  wrath, '  Booby, 
(Babieca,)  a  bad  choice  hast  thou  made  !'  'Nay,'  said  Rodrigo,  'a  right  good 
horse  will  this  be.'  And  Babieca  was  he  henceforth  called,  and  he  was  after- 
wards a  good  steed  and  a  bold,  and  on  his  back  did  my  Cid  win  many  battle- 
fields.' We  have  already  seen  that  he  stood  Rodrigo  in  good  stead  in  the 
affair  of  the  five  Moorish  kings :  we  next  find  him  acting  the  part  of  the 
Samaritan's  beast,  and  our  hero  in  the  novel  character  of  a  pilgrim. 

Very  soon  after  his  marriage,  Rodrigo  made  a  pilgrimage  to  Compostela,  to 
the  shrine  of  Santiago,  the  patron  saint  of  Spain.     This  was  no  wedding-trip, 


216  THE   CID. 

in  the  modern  sense  of  the  term  ;  for  instead  of  his  bride,  whom  he  left  at 
home  in  the  care  of  his  mother,* 

'  Twenty  young  and  brave  hidalgos 
With  him  did  Rodrigo  take; 
Alms  on  every  side  he  scattered 
For  God  and  Our  Lady's  sake.' 

On  the  road  he  saw  a  leper  in  the  midst  of  a  slough,  crying  loudly  for  help. 
The  generous  youth  on  the  instant  dismounted  and  dragged  him  out ;  then, 
having  seated  him  on  his  own  beast,  he  led  him  to  an  inn,  made  him  there  sit 
down  to  supper  with  him  at  the  same  table,  to  the  great  wrath  of  the  twenty 
hidalgos,  and,  finally,  shared  with  him  his  bed.  At  midnight  Rodrigo  was 
awakened  by  a  sharp  and  piercing  blast  blowing  on  his  back.  He  started  up 
in  great  alarm,  and  felt  for  the  leper,  but  found  him  not  in  the  bed.  He 
sprung  to  his  feet,  and  called  for  a  light.  A  light  was  brought,  but  no  leper 
could  he  find.  He  again  lay  down,  when  presently  a  figure,  in  robes  of  shin- 
ing white,  approached  the  bed,  and  thus  spoke  : — 

'  I  Saint  Lazarus  am,  Rodrigo ; 

Somewhat  would  I  say  to  thee — 
I  the  leper  am  to  whom 

Thou  hast  shown  such  charity. 
Thou  of  God  art  well  beloved — 
He  hath  granted  this  to  thee, 

'  That  on  whatsoe'er  thou  enterest, 
Be  it  war,  or  what  it  may, 
Thou  shall  end  it  to  thine  honor, 
And  shall  prosper  day  by  day. 

'  To  respect  and  pay  thee  reverence, 
Moor  or  Christian  ne'er  shall  fail ; 
None  of  all  thy  foes  shall  ever 
Over  thee  in  fight  prevail. 

'  Life  shall  bring  thee  no  dishonor — 
Thou  shah  ever  conqueror  be  ; 
Death  shall  find  thee  still  victorious, 
For  God's  blessing  rests  on  thee.' 


*  In  a  former  article  it  was  stated  that  the  romances  make  no  mention  of  the  Cid's 
mother:  it  should  have  been  said  that  they  do  not  mention  her  name. 


THE   CID.  217 

With  these  prophetic  words  the  saint  vanished  ;  the  hero  fell  on  his  knees, 
and  continued  in  thanksgiving  to  God  and  Holy  Mary  till  the  break  of  day, 
when  he  pursued  his  pilgrimage. 

From  the  shrine  at  Compostela,  Rodrigo  turned  his  steps  to  Calahorra,  a 
town  on  the  frontiers  of  Castile  and  Aragon,  the  possession  of  which  was 
contested  by  the  kings  of  those  realms.  To  avoid  war,  the  monarchs  agreed 
to  settle  the  dispute  by  single  combat,  each  appointing  a  knight  to  do  battle 
in  his  name.  Martin  Gonzalez  was  chosen  by  Ramiro  of  Aragon,  and  our 
hero  by  King  Fernando.  On  the  first  meeting  of  the  combatants,  Martin 
arrogantly  boasted  of  his  prowess  and  his  certainty  of  victory : 

'  Sore,  Rodrigo,  must  thou  tremble 
Now  to  meet  me  in  the  fight, 
Since  thy  head  will  soon  be  sever'd 
For  a  trophy  of  my  might. 

4  Never  more  to  thine  own  castle 
Wilt  thou  turn  Babieca's  rein ; 
Never  will  thy  lov'd  Ximena 
See  thee  at  her  side  again.' 

Rodrigo  replied : 

1  Thou  mayst  be  right  stout  and  valiant, 
But  thy  boastings  prove  it  not ; 
Truce  to  words — we  come  to  combat, 
Not  with  tongues,  but  swords,  I  wot. 

'  In  the  hands  of  God  Almighty 
Doth  the  victory  abide ; 
And  He  will  on  him  bestow  it 
Who  hath  right  upon  his  side.' 

We  have  here  an  instance,  and  many  such  will  be  found  in  the  romances 
of  the  Cid,  of  the  belief  prevalent  in  the  chivalrous  ages,  that  right  and  might 
were  in  certain  cases  identical,  that  God  was  peculiarly  the  God  of  battles, 
and  that  trial  by  combat  was  the  most  efficacious  mode  of  exercising  justice. 

After  the  prophecy  above  recounted,  it  were  needless  to  say  that  the  boast- 
ing knight  was  vanquished  and  slain,  and  that  Calahorra  was  annexed  to  the 
kingdom  of  Castile. 

4  Loud  to  arms  the  trumpets  sounded, 
Beat  the  drums  the  call  to  war, — 
Deadly  strife,  and  fire,  and  slaughter, 
Were  proclaimed  wide  and  far. 

28 


218  THE   CID. 

'  Ruy  my  Cid  his  warmen  gathering, 
Marshall'd  them  right  speedily  ; 
Then  forth  came  Ximena  Gomez, 
And  all  tearfully  did  cry, 
'  King  of  my  soul !  lord  of  my  bosom !  stay ! 
Oh,  whither  go'st  thou  ?  leave  me  not,  I  pray  !' 

'  Moved  by  her  sad  complainings, 
Lo  !  the  Cid  his  pain  confest ; 
Weeping  sore,  he  claspt  Ximena, 
Claspt  his  lov'd  one  to  his  breast. 

'  Weep  not,  lady  dear,'  he  whispereth  ; 
'  Till  I  come  back,  dry  thine  eye  !' 
Stedfast  still  on  him  she  gazeth, 
And  still  bitterly  doth  cry, 
'  King  of  my  soul !  lord  of  my  bosom  !  stay ! 
Oh,  whither  go'st  thou  ?  leave  me  not,  I  pray  !'  ' 

On  what  warlike  expedition  Rodrigo  was  bound  when  this  tender  parting 
took  place  is  not  made  evident  by  the  romances  ;  but  it  was  probable  that  he 
was  hastening  to  attack  the  Moors,  '  great  hosts'  of  whom  about  this  time 
overran  Estremadura.  He  overtook  them,  put  them  to  flight,  freed  the  cap- 
tives they  had  made,  slew  so  many  of  the  infidels  '  that  the  number  could  not 
be  counted,'  and  returned  to  Bivar  laden  with  spoil  and  glory. 

The  city  of  Coimbra  in  Portugal  had  for  seven  years  been  invested  by  King 
Fernando,  who  was  despairing  of  overcoming  the  resistance  of  the  Moors, 
when  St.  James  the  apostle,  in  the  guise  of  a  knight  in  white  robes  and  bur- 
nished armor,  and  mounted  on  a  snowy  charger,  delivered  the  city  into  the 
hands  of  the  Christians.  On  the  mosque  being  consecrated  as  a  church,  our 
hero  was  therein  created  a  knight ;  for  it  seems  by  the  Chronicle,  as  well  as 
by  the  romances,  that  up  to  this  time  he  was  nothing  but  an  esquire.  The 
king  girt  on  the  sword  with  his  own  hands,  and  kissed  his  lips  as  a  knightly 
salutation  ;  while,  to  testify  his  great  respect  for  the  young  hero,  he  refrained 
from  striking  the  customary  blow  on  the  neck.*  The  queen,  to  do  him  honor, 
brought  him  his  horse,  and  the  Infanta  Urraca  stooped  to  attach  the  golden 

*  Father  Berganza,  in  his  '  Antiquities  of  Spain,'  says  that  the  buffet  was  given  with 
the  hand  upon  the  neck,  with  the  words  'Awake,  and  sleep  not  in  affairs  of  chivalry !'  and 
that  it  was  also  usual  to  say,  '  Be  a  good  and  faithful  soldier  of  the  realm  !'  but  that  King 
Fernando  spared  the  buffet  in  this  instance,  as  he  knew  the  Cid  needed  not  such  exhor- 
tation, 


THE    CID.  219 

spurs.  The  king  then  called  upon  him  to  exercise  his  newly  acquired  privi- 
lege of  knighting  others,  and  he  accordingly  dubbed  nine  valiant  esquires  be- 
fore the  altar. 

Whilst  Rodrigo  was  with  the  king's  court  in  the  city  of  Zamora,  there 
came  to  him  messengers  from  the  five  Moorish  kings  he  had  conquered,  bring- 
ing him  tribute.     This  consisted  of  a  hundred  horses,  all  richly  caparisoned  : 

'  Twenty  were  of  dapple  gray, 
Twenty  were  as  ermine  white, 
Thirty  were  of  hardy  sorrel, 
Thirty  were  as  black  as  night ;' 

together  with  many  rare  jewels  for  his  lady  Ximena,  and  chests  of  silken  ap- 
parel for  his  attendant  hidalgos.  Kneeling  at  Rodrigo's  feet,  the  messengers 
offered  him  these  gifts  in  token  of  the  allegiance  of  their  masters  to  him  their 
Cid  or  lord. 

'  Out  then,'  spake  Rodrigo  Diaz, 
'  Friends,  I  wot,  ye  err  in  this ; 
I  am  neither  lord  nor  master 
Where  the  King  Fernando  is. 

'All  ye  bring  to  him  pertaineth — 
Nought  can  I,  his  vassal,  claim.'  ' 

The  king,  charmed  with  the  humility  of  so  noble  and  doughty  a  knight,  re- 
fused to  accept  any  portion  of  the  tribute,  and  replied  to  the  messengers — 

'  Say  ye  to  your  lords,  albeit 

This  their  Cid  no  crown  doth  wear, 
To  no  monarch  is  he  second ; 
With  myself  he  may  compare. 

'  All  my  realm,  my  wealth,  my  power, 
To  this  knight's  good  sword  I  owe  ; 
To  possess  so  brave  a  vassal, 
Well  it  pleaseth  me,  I  trow.' 

Rodrigo  sent  back  the  messengers  laden  with  presents  ;  and  •  from  that  day 
forth,'  says  the  romance,  •  he  was  called  the  Cid,  a  name  given  by  the  Moors 
to  a  man  of  valor  and  high  estate.' 


ffije  (tin.—mtt  iFttti). 


'  I  'm  the  Cid,  Rodrigo  Diaz, 
Honor  of  Castile  and  Spain  ; 
Look  unto  my  deeds  of  prowess  ! 
Who  could  greater  glory  gain  ?' 


In  the  year  1055,  Henry  III.,  Emperor  of  Germany,  complained  to  "Victor 
II.,  who  eat  in  the  chair  of  St.  Peter,  that  Fernando  of  Castile  alone,  of  all 
the  potentates  of  Christendom,  refused  to  acknowledge  his  superiority  and 
pay  him  tribute.  The  holy  father  lent  a  favorable  ear  to  his  prayer,  and  de- 
spatched a  messenger  to  Fernando,  threatening  a  crusade  against  him  unless 
he  tendered  his  obedience  ;  and  this  threat  was  seconded  by  many  other  sove- 
reigns, whose  letters  accompanied  the  Pope's.  Fernando,  in  great  alarm, 
hastily  called  tegether  a  council  for  deliberation  and  advice.  His  nobles 
counselled  him  to  submit,  lest  he  should  lose  his  kingdom.  '  The  good  Cid' 
was  not  present  when  the  council  commenced  its  deliberations,  but  he  now 
entered  the  hall ;  and  hearing  what  had  passed,  '  it  grieved  his  heart  sore,' 
and  he  thus  broke  forth  : — 

'  Woe  the  day  thy  mother  bore  thee ! 

Woe  were  for  Castile  that  day, 
Should  thy  realm,  oh,  King  Fernando, 
This  unwonted  tribute  pay  ! 

'  Never  yet  have  we  done  homage — 
Shall  we  to  a  stranger  bow  1 
Great  the  honor  God  hath  given  us — 
Shall  we  lose  that  honor  now  ? 

'  He  who  would  such  counsel  lend  thee, 
Count  him,  king,  to  be  thy  foe ; 
He  against  thy  crown  conspireth, 
And  thy  sceptre  would  o'erthrow. 


THE   CID.  221 

'  Thy  forefathers  erst  did  rescue 

This  fair  realm  from  Paynim  sway ; 
Sore  they  bled,  and  long  they  struggled-— 
None  to  aid  them  did  essay. 

'  Sore  they  bled — my  life  I  'd  forfeit 

Ere  I  'd  wear  the  brand  of  shame, 
Ere  I  'd  stoop  to  pay  this  tribute, 
Which  none  hath  a  right  to  claim. 

'  Send  then  to  the  Holy  Father, 
Proudly  thu3  to  him  reply — 
Thou,  the  king,  and  I,  Rodrigo, 
Him  and  all  his  power  defy.' 

Notwithstanding  the  daring  boldness  of  this  counsel,  it  pleased  the  king  ; 
and  he  sent  back  the  messengers  to  the  Pope,  begging  his  Holiness  not  to 
interfere,  and  at  the  same  time  challenging  the  Emperor  and  all  his  tributary- 
kings.  Straightway  a  host  of  eight  thousand  nine  hundred  men  was  gathered, 
and  commanded  by  the  Cid  and  accompanied  by  the  king,  it  crossed  the  Py- 
renees, and  met  the  Count  of  Savoy,  '  with  a  very  great  chivalry'  (twenty 
thousand  men,  says  the  Chronicle,)  on  the  plains  of  France.  The  Emperor's 
forces  were  routed  and  the  Count  made  prisoner ;  but  the  Cid  released  him 
on  his  giving  up  his  daughter  as  a  hostage.  Rodrigo  having  in  another  battle 
defeated  '  the  mightiest  power  of  France,'  the  allied  sovereigns  in  alarm 
wrote  to  the  Pope,  beseeching  him  to  prevail  upon  the  king  of  Castile  to  re- 
turn to  his  own  land,  and  they  would  ask  no  more  for  tribute,  for  none  might 
withstand  the  power  of  the  Cid.  On  these  terms  Fernando  withdrew  his 
forces.  The  Chronicle  adds,  that  the  Pope  and  the  allied  sovereigns  made  a 
solemn  covenant  with  him  that  such  a  demand  should  never  again  be  made 
upon  Castile. 

In  order  that  we  may  not  withdraw  the  attention  of  our  readers  from  what 
bears  an  immediate  reference  to  the  Cid,  we  pass  over  Ximena's  letter  to  the 
king,  complaining  of  the  long  absence  of  her  lord,  the  king's  reply,  the  cere- 
mony of  her  purification  after  her  first  delivery,  the  subsequent  death-bed 
scene  of  •  the  good  king'  Fernando,  and  the  distribution  of  his  territories 
among  his  children— which  things  are  recorded  in  many  romances  full  of  in- 
terest— and  we  proceed  to  notice  the  next  striking  event  in  the  life  of  our 
hero. 

Sancho  II.,  who  in  1065  succeeded  his  father  on  the  throne  of  Castile,  went 
to  Rome  to  attend  a  council  convoked  by  the  holy  father.     On  his  arrival,  he 


222 


was  admitted  to  kiss  the  pope's  hand,  which  we  are  informed  he  did  [  with 
great  courtesy,'  as  did  also  the  Cid  and  the  other  knights  in  his  train,  each  in 
turn,  according  to  his  rank,  After  this  our  Cid  chanced  to  stray  into  the 
church  of  St.  Peter,  and  there  beheld  seven  marble  seats  set  for  the  Christian 
kings  then  in  Rome  ;  he  remarked  that  that  of  the  French  king  was  placed 
next  the  papal  throne,  while  that  of  his  own  liege  was  on  a  lower  step.  This 
fired  his  wrath,  and  he  kicked  the  French  king's  seat  to  the  ground  with  such 
violence  as  to  break  it  to  pieces,  and  set  his  own  lord's  chair  in  the  place  of 
honor.     Hereon  exclaimed  a  noble  duke  called  the  Savoyard,  who  stood  by, — 

'  Cursed  be  thou,  Don  Rodrigo ! 

May  the  Pope's  ban  on  thee  rest ; 
For  thou  hast  a  king  dishonor'd 
Of  all  kings,  1  wot,  the  best.' 

The  Cid  replied— 

'  Speak  no  more  of  kings,  Sir  Duke ; 
If  thou  dost  of  wrong  complain, 
It  shall  straightway  be  redressed — 
Here  are  none  beside  us  twain.' 

But  the  Duke  did  not  seem  inclined  to  fight,  so  the  Cid  stepped  up  to  him, 
and  gave  a  hard  thrust, — a  departure,  it  must  be  confessed,  from  his  wonted 
courtesy,  but  to  be  accounted  for,  if  not  excused,  by  the  state  of  irritation  in 
which  he  was  at  the  moment.  The  Duke  received  the  insult  in  silence,  but 
made  his  complaint  to  the  Pope,  who  immediately  excommunicated  the  Cid. 
Rodrigo,  whose  wrath  had  now  subsided,  hereon  fell  prostrate  before  his  Holi- 
ness, and  besought  absolution  : 

1 1  absolve  thee,  Don  Ruy  Diaz, 
I  absolve  thee  cheerfully, 
If  while  at  my  court,  thou  showest 
Due  respect  and  courtesy.' 

Hardly  had  Sancho  ascended  the  throne  of  Castile,  when  he  sought  to  wrest 
from  his  brothers,  Alfonso,  king  of  Leon,  and  Garcia,  king  of  Galicia,  the 
dominions  they  had  inherited  from  their  father,  and  in  both  cases,  owing  to 
the  wisdom  and  valor  of  the  Cid,  he  was  eminently  successful.  On  his  first 
encounter  with  Alfonso,  Sancho  had  the  worst  of  it,  his  troops  being  put  to 
the  rout,  but  he  was  cheered  by  the  counsel  of  the  Cid  : — *  List,  my  liege  ! 
Thy  brother's  hosts  are  now  feasting  and  making  merry  in  their  tents,  as  is 
the  wont  of  the  Leonese  and  Galicians  after  a  victory  ;  and  soon  will  they  be 


THE   CID.  223 

buried  in  slumber,  neither  heeding  nor  fearing  thee  ;  but  gather  thou  together 
as  many  of  thine  own  men  as  may  be,  and  at  break  of  day  fall  on  the  foe 
manfully,  and  verily  thou  wilt  have  thy  revenge.'  This  counsel  was  followed 
with  great  success,  the  men  of  Leon  were  overthrown,  and  Alfonso  himself 
made  prisoner,  but  his  troops  rallied,  and  in  their  turn  captured  Don  Sancho. 
As  he  was  being  led  off  the  field  by  fourteen  knights,  '  the  renowned  one  of 
Bivar'  came  up,  and  begged  his  release  in  exchange  for  their  King  Alfonso. 
They  sternly  replied — 

'  Hie  thee  hence,  Rodrigo  Diaz, 
An  thou  love  thy  liberty ; 
Lest,  with  this  thy  king,  we  take  thee 
Into  dire  captivity.' 

At  this,  '  great  wrath  seized  on  the  Cid,'  and,  regardless  of  their  numbers, 
he  attacked  them,  and  with  his  single  arm  routed  them,  and  set  his  king  at 
liberty. 

Our  hero  was  equally  instrumental  in  the  conquest  of  Don  Garcia,  but  we 
refrain  from  particulars,  as  it  is  not  our  intention  to  dwell  so  much  on  his 
warlike  deeds  as  on  the  other  events  of  his  life,  which  will  prove  of  more 
general  interest.     We  pass  then  at  once  to  the  expedition  against  Zamora. 

Having  deprived  his  brothers  of  their  kingdoms,  and  his  sister  Elvira  of 
the  town  of  Toro,  her  only  inheritance,  Don  Sancho  marched  against  Zamora, 
which  the  old  king  had  bequeathed  to  his  other  daughter,  Urraca,  but  which 
the  new  monarch  considered  his  rightful  inheritance,  and  eagerly  desired  to 
possess,  in  order  that  his  dominion  might  in  no  way  be  inferior  to  that  of  his 
predecessor.  His  army  being  encamped  before  the  town,  the  king  rode  out 
with  the  Cid,  to  reconnoitre  the  place,  and  thus  expressed  his  admiration  of 

its  strength : — 

'  See  !  where  on  yon  cliff  Zamora 
Lifteth  up  her  haughty  brow, 
Walla  of  strength  on  high  begird  her, 
Duero  swift  and  deep  below. 

1  Troth  !  how  wondrous  strong  she  seemeth 
In  her  panoply  of  towers ; 
She,  I  wot,  might  bid  defiance 
To  the  world  and  all  its  powers  ! 

'  Wert  she  mine,  that  noble  city, 
Spain  itself  were  not  so  dear ; 
Cid,  my  sire  did  thee  much  honor, 
Great  love  eke  to  thee  I  bear. 


224 


THE   CID. 


'  Wherefore  charge  I  thee,  Rodrigo, 
As  a  vassal  loyal  and  true, 
Hie  thee  straight  unto  Zamora, 
This  my  bidding  for  to  do.' 

He  charged  the  Cid  to  tell  his  sister  Urraca  to  deliver  up  the  city,  either 
for  a  sum  of  gold  or  in  exchange  for  some  other  town,  and  promised  to  swear, 
with  twelve  of  his  vassals,  that  he  would  fulfil  the  agreement;  but  as  the 
strongest  inducement  for  her  to  accede  to  his  demand,  he  added — 

'  If  she  will  do  none  of  these, 
I  will  e'en  by  force  possess  it.' 

The  Cid  obeyed  with  great  reluctance,  for  he  had  before  endeavored  to 
dissuade  the  king  from  his  unrighteous  purpose,  and  had  sworn  that  he  would 
not  himself  take  up  arms  against  Zamora.  As  he  approached  the  walls,  the 
Infanta  Urraca  calls  out  to  him  from  the  ramparts, — 

'  Back  !  begone  with  thee,  Rodrigo  ! 
Proud  Castillian,  hence  !  away  ! 
How  canst  thou  thus  dare  assail  me  ? 
Hast  forgot  that  happy  day, 

'  When,  at  Santiago's  altar, 

Thou  wast  made  a  belted  knight  ? 
The  king,  my  sire,  was  thy  godfather, 

And  put  on  thy  armor  bright ; 
My  mother  brought  to  thee  thy  charger, 
By  my  hands  thy  spurs  were  dight. 

'  Woe  is  me  !  I  thought  to  wed  thee ; 

Fondly  did  I  love  thee,  Cid ; 
But  my  sins,  alas  !  forbad  it, 
Thou  didst  with  Ximena  wed. 

'  With  her  thou  hadst  well-fill'd  coffers, 
Honor  wouldst  have  won  with  me  ; 
And,  if  wealth  be  good,  still  better 
Rank  and  honor  were  to  thee.'* 


*  Though  the  romances  make  mention  of  but  one  Ximena,  it  may  be  doubted  whether 
the  Cid  had  not  two  wives  of  that  name.  Father  Berganza,  who  spared  no  pains  to 
verify  the  events  of  our  hero's  life,  seems  to  regard  his  marriage  with  Ximena  Gomez  as 
fictitious,  and  thinks  his  true  wife  was  Ximena  Diaz,  daughter  of  Don  Diego,  Count  of 
the  Asturias,  and  of  the  royal  blood  of  Leon,  and  that  he  married  her  in  the  reign  of 


THE   CID.  225 

These  words  rendered  the  Cid  very  sorrowful,  and  he  returned  to  the  camp 
without 'having  accomplished  the  purpose  of  his  embassy.  But,  according  to 
another  romance,  which  agrees  with  the  '  Chronicle'  in  this,  as  well  as  in 
omitting  all  notice  of  Urraca's  confession,  he  entered  the  city,  and  delivered 
his  message.    The  Infanta  heard  it  with  many  tears,  and  cried — 

'  Woe  is  me,  a  lonely  woman  ! 
Woe  is  me,  a  maid  forlorn  ! 
King,  thy  dying  sire  remember; 
Be  not  Sancho  still  forsworn  ! 

'  From  thy  brother  Don  Garcia 

Thou  hast  crown  and  kingdom  ta'en ; 
Cast  him  eke  into  a  dungeon, 
Where  he  ruefully  hath  lain. 

'  Next,  thy  brother  Don  Alfonso 

Thou  didst  drive  him  from  his  throne ; 
Fled  he  straight  unto  Toledo, 
Where  he  dwelleth  woe-begone. 

'  From  my  sister,  Dona  Elvira, 
Toro  hast  thou  wrested,  too ; 
Now  of  me  thou  wouldst  Zamora ; 
Woe  is  me  !  what  shall  I  do  V 

Hereon  arose  Arias  Gonzalo,  an  aged  noble,  who  was  the  Infanta's  chief 
counsellor,  and,  to  console  her,  he  proposed  that  the  sense  of  the  citizens 
should  be  taken  with  regard  to  this  matter.     This  was  accordingly  done,  and — 

1  Then  did  swear  all  her  brave  vassals 
In  Zamora's  walls  to  die, 
Ere  unto  the  king  they'd  yield  it, 
And  disgrace  their  chivalry.' 

When  the  Cid  returned  with  this  answer,  the  king  was  exceeding  wrathful, 
and  accused  him  of  having  suggested  it,  because  he  had  been  brought  up  in 

Sancho  II.  Certain  it  is  that  on  her  tomb,  which  we  have  seen  in  San  Pedro  de  Cardena, 
»he  is  styled  '  Ximena  Diaz,  grand-daughter  of  the  King  Alfonso  V.  of  Leon.'  Sandoval 
and  Berganza  give  at  length  the  marriage  settlement  of  the  Cid  and  Ximena  Diaz,  dated 
1074,  and  still  preserved,  it  is  said,  in  the  archives  of  the  cathedral  at  Burgos.  Lest  it 
should  be  supposed  that  she  was  so  called  from  the  surname  of  her  husband,  we  must 
observe  that  Spanish  females  do  not  lose  their  maiden  names  on  their  marriage. 

M 


226  THE   CID. 

Zamora,  and  was  ill-affected  towards  the  expedition.  So  wrathful  was  Don 
Sancho,  that  he  exclaimed,  'Were  it  not  for  the  love  my  father  bore  thee,  I 
would  straightway  have  thee  hanged  ;  but  I  command  thee  to  begone  in  nine 
days  from  this  my  realm  of  Castile.  The  Cid  went  his  way  to  the  Arab 
court  of  Toledo,  but  his  exile  was  not  of  long  duration,  for  the  king,  through 
the  representations  of  his  nobles,  soon  began  to  regret  the  loss  of  so  valiant 
a  liegeman,  and  sent  to  recall  him.     When  he  heard  of  his  approach, 

'  Forth  two  leagues  he  went  to  meet  him, 
■    With  five  hundred  in  his  train  ; 
When  the  Cid  beheld  the  monarch, 

From  his  steed  he  sprung  amain. 
Kneeling,  the  king's  hands  he  kissed, 

Lowly  homage  did  he  pay  ; 
Then,  with  joy  of  all,  uprising, 

Took  he  to  the  camp  his  way.1 

One  day  during  the  siege  of  Zamora  there  came  running  from  the  city, 
hard  pursued  by  the  sons  of  Arias  Gonzalo,  one  who  made  straight  for  the 
tent  of  the  King  Don  Sancho.  This  fellow,  whose  name  was  Bellido  Dolfos, 
said  that  he  had  been  forced  to  fly  for  his  life,  for  having  advised  Arias  to 
surrender  the  city ;  he  professed  himself  a  warm  partisan  of  the  king,  and 
offered  to  show  him  a  postern  through  which  he  and  his  forces  might  enter 
Zamora.    Though  the  king  was  warned  by  Arias  Gonzalo  from  the  ramparts, — 

'  Ware  thee  !  ware  thee  .'  King  Don  Sancho, 

List  to  my  admonishment ! 
From  Zamora's  walls  a  traitor 
Hath  gone  forth  with  foul  intent,' 

he  was  imprudent  enough  to  sally  forth  with  Bellido  alone,  in  order  to  see 
this  postern,  and  even  handed  to  him,  for  a  moment,  the  hunting-6pear  he 
bore  in  his  hand.  Dolfos,  seeing  him  unprotected,  raised  himself  in  his  stir- 
rups, and  with  all  his  force  hurled  the  spear  into  the  king's  back.  It  passed 
completely  through  him,  and  he  fell  in  the  agonies  of  death.  The  traitor 
spurred  away  towards  the  town,  but  not  alone,  for  the  Cid  had  seen  the  deed, 
and,  springing  to  his  horse,  galloped  after  him  ;  but  not  having  buckled  on 
his  spurs,  he  was  unable  to  overtake  him  before  he  reached  the  gates.  Then 
cried  he  in  his  wrath, — 

'  Cursed  be  the  wretch  !  and  cursed 

He  who  mounteth  without  spur ! 

Had  I  arm'd  my  heels  with  rowels, 

I  had  slain  the  treacherous  cur.' 


THE   CID.  227 

The  Castillian  knights  gathered  around  their  dying  king,  and  all  flattered 
him  with  the  hope  of  recovery,  save  the  veteran  Count  of  Cabra,  who  charged 
him  to  take  no  heed  to  his  body,  but  to  commend  his  soul  to  God  without 
delay,  for  his  end  was  at  hand.  While  faltering  out  his  thanks  for  this 
counsel,  the  hapless  Don  Sancho  expired. 

1  Such-like  fate  awaiteth  all 

Who  in  traitors  put  their  trust.' 


Then,  turning  to  the  surrounding  nobles,  he  proposed  that  a  challenge 
should  be  sent  to  Zamora  before  the  sun  went  down.  This  he,  by  reason  of 
his  oath,  could  not  offer,  but  it  was  undertaken  by  Diego  Ordonez,  the  flower 
of  the  renowned  house  of  Lara,  •  who  had  been  wont  to  lie  at  the  king's  feet.' 
He  rode  up  to  the  walls  of  the  city,  and  cried  with  a  loud  voice, — 


anue  m%.— pact  sfptfj. 


'  Dead  the  king  Don  Sancho  lieth, — 

Lo !  where  round  his  body  kneel, 
Sorely  wailing,  knights  and  nobles, 

All  the  flower  of  Castille. 
But  my  Cid  Rodrigo  Diaz 

Most  of  all  his  loss  doth  feeL 

'  Tears  adown  his  cheeks  come  trickling 

As  he  thus  in  grief  doth  say,—  I 

'  Woe  is  thee,  my  king,  my  lord ! 

Woe !   woe  for  Castille  that  day, 
When,  in  spite  of  me,  Zamora 

Leaguer'd  was  with  this  array  J 

'  Neither  God  nor  man  he  feared, 
Who  to  this  did  counsel  thee  ; 
Who  did  urge  thee  thus  to  trespass 
'Gainst  the  laws  of  chivalry.' 


228 

THE   CID. 

'  Lying  hounds  and  traitors  are  ye, 
All  who  in  Zamora  live  ; 
For  within  your  walls  protection 
To  a  traitor  ye  do  give. 

4  Those  who  shelter  lend  to  traitors, 
Traitors  are  themselves,  I  trow; 
And  as  such  I  now  impeach  ye, 
And  as  such  I  curse  ye  now. 

'  Cursed  be  your  wives  and  children ! 
Cursed  be  your  babes  unborn ! 
Cursed  be  your  youth,  your  aged — 
All  that  joy,  and  all  that  mourn ! 

'  Cursed  eke  be  your  forefathers, 

That  they  gave  ye  life  and  breath ! 
Cursed  be  the  bread,  the  water, 
Which  such  traitors  nourisheth ! 

'  Cursed  be  men,  women,  children .' 
Cursed  be  the  great,  the  small .' 

Cursed  be  the  dead,  the  living-^- 

All  within  Zamora's  wall ! 

'  Lo  !  I  come  to  prove  ye  traitors — 

Ready  stand  I  on  this  plain 

Five  to  meet  in  single  combat, 

As  it  is  the  wont  in  Spain.' 

'  Out  then  spake  the  Count  Gonzalo — 

Ye  shall  hear  what  he  did  say : — 

\ 

'  What  wrong  have  our  infants  done  ye  1 

'■ 

What  our  babes  unborn,  I  pray  ? 

1  Wherefore  curse  ye  thus  our  women  ? 

'• 

Why  our  aged  and  our  dead  ? 

\ 

Wherefore  curse  our  cattle?  wherefore 

\ 

All  our  fountains  and  our  bread  T 

' 

'  Know  that  for  this  foul  impeachment 

5 

Thou  must  battle  do  with  five  V 
Answer  made  he,  *  Ye  are  traitors — 

\ 

\ 

\ 
i 

All  who  in  Zamora  live !' 

J 

THE   CED.  229 

Then  said  Don  Arias,  '  Would  I  had  never  been  born,  if  it  be  in  truth  as 
thou  sayest ;  nevertheless,  I  accept  thy  challenge,  to  prove  that  it  is  not  so.' 
Then,  turning  to  the  citizens,  he  said,  '  Men  of  great  honor  and  esteem,  if 
there  be  among  ye  any  who  hath  had  aught  to  do  with  treachery,  let  him  speak 
out  and  confess  it,  and  I  will  straightway  quit  this  land,  and  go  in  exile  to 
Africa,  that  I  may  not  be  conquered  in  battle  as  a  traitor  and  a  villain.' 

With  one  voice  all  replied, 

'  Fire  consume  us,  Count  Gonzalo, 
If  in  this  we  guilty  be ! 
None  of  us  within  Zamora 
Of  this  deed  had  privity. 

'  Dolfos  only  is  the  traitor; 

None  but  he  the  king  did  slay. 
Thou  canst  safely  go  to  battle — 
God  will  be  thy  shield  and  stay.' 

Though  the  Infanta  with  tears  besought  Don  Arias  to  regard  his  hoary 
head,  and  forego  so  perilous  an  emprise,  he  insisted  that  he  and  his  four  sons 
should  accept  the  challenge,  '  because  he  had  been  called  a  traitor.' 

'  Deem  it  little  worth,  my  lady, 
That  I  go  forth  to  the  strife ; 
For  unto  his  lord  the  vassal 

Oweth  wealth,  and  fame,  and  life.' 

The  combat  which  ensues  brings  to  mind  the  description  given  by  Sir 
Walter  Scott,  in  his  '  Fair  Maid  of  Perth,'  of  old  Torquil  and  his  sons  in  the 
battle  between  the  Highland  clans  Chattan  and  Quhele.  We  must  not,  how- 
ever, omit  to  notice  a  romance  which  describes  the  knighting  of  Pedro,  one 
of  the  sons  of  Don  Arias,  previous  to  the  battle.  It  tells  us  that  after  he  had 
watched  his  arms  before  the  altar,  mass  was  sung  by  the  bishop,  who  also 
blessed  each  piece  of  armor  ere  it  was  donned,  and  that  the  young  squire  was 
then  dubbed  by  his  father,  who  added  some  knightly  counsel : — 

'  Rise  a  knight,  son  of  my  bosom  ! 
A  knight  of  noble  race  thou  art ; 
That  God  make  thee  all  thou  shouldst  be, 
Is  the  fond  wish  of  my  heart. 

'  True  and  upright  be  to  all  men  ; 
Traitors  shun  thou  and  despise  ; 
Of  thy  friends  be  thou  the  bulwark — 
Terror  of  thine  enemies ; 


230  THE    CID. 

'  Firm  in  trial,  bold  in  peril, 
Mighty  in  the  battle-field, 
Smite  not,  son,  thy  vanquish'd  foeman, 
When  the  steel  he  cannot  wield; 

'  But  as  long  as  in  the  combat 

He  doth  lance  or  sword  oppose, 
Spare  thou  neither  thrusts  or  slashes, 
Be  not  niggard  of  thy  blows.' 

The  '  fond  wishes'  of  the  old  Count  were,  alas  !  soon  disappointed,  for  on 
the  first  encounter  with  Don  Diego  Ordonez,  Pedro  Arias  was  slain.  Such 
was  also  the  fate  of  his  two  brothers  Diego  and  Hernan,  but  the  latter  when 
mortally  wounded,  struck  Don  Diego's  charger,  which,  furious  with  pain, 
carried  his  rider  out  of  the  lists,  so  that  the  umpires  declared  it  to  be  a  drawn 
battle. 

Bravely  did  the  old  Count  bear  up  against  his  heavy  loss,  as  is  shown  by  a 
short  but  beautiful  romance  which  describes  the  funeral  procession  of  one  of 
his  sons.  In  the  midst  of  a  troop  of  three  hundred  horsemen  was  borne  the 
corpse,  in  a  wooden  coffin  : 

'  Five  score  noble  damsels  wail  him, 
Of  his  kindred  every  one ; 
Some  an  uncle,  some  a  cousin, 
Some  bewail  a  brother  gone. 

'  But  the  fair  Urraca  Hernando, 
Deepest  is  her  grief,  I  ween.' 

This  was  probably  his  true  love,  or  it  might  have  been  the  Infanta  herself, 
who  was  his  foster-sister.  '  How  well,'  says  the  romance,  '  doth  the  old  Arias 
Gonzalo  comfort  them !' 

'  Wherefore  weep  ye  thus,  my  damsels  ? 
Why  so  bitterly  bemoan  ? 
In  no  tavern-brawl  he  perish'd  ; 
Wherefore  then  so  woe-begone? 

'  But  he  died  before  Zamora,- 

Pure  your  honor  to  maintain ; — 
Died  he  as  a  knight  should  die, 
Died  he  on  the  battle-plain.' 

It  does  not  appear  that  Arias  Gonzalo  or  his  sons  were  in  any  way  guilty 
of  the  treacherous  murder  of  the  king  Don  Sancho.     Suspicion  would  rather 


the  cm.  231 

attach  to  the  Infanta  Urraca,  who,  according  to  the  Chronicle,  had  promised 
Fellido  Dolfos  whatever  he  might  ask,  if  he  would  cause  the  siege  to  be  raised. 
On  the  ultimate  fate  of  this  miscreant,  further  than  that  he  was  imprisoned 
by  Don  Arias,  both  Chronicle  and  romances  are  wholly  silent. 


Kt)t  <&tit.—l$Hvt  Sebentf). 


'  One  true  and  upright  vassal  better 
Than  a  thousand  fawners  is  ; 
For  a  king  from  many  bad  men 
Cannot  make  one  good,  I  wiss.' 


Immediately  on  the  death  of  King  Sancho,  which  happened  a.  d.  1073, 
Dona  Urraca  sent  messengers  to  her  brother  Alfonso,  then  in  exile  at  the 
Arab  court  of  Toledo,  to  inform  him  of  his  succession  to  the  throne  of  Castille 
and  Leon.  He  and  his  little  band  of  attendants  escaped  by  letting  themselves 
down  by  night  from  the  city-walls,  and  having  taken  the  precaution  of  rever- 
sing the  shoes  on  their  horses'  feet,  they  eluded  pursuit,  and  reached  Zamora 
in  safety.  Here  the  nobles  all  paid  homage  to  Alfonso  as  their  king,  save  the 
Cid,  who  refused  to  kiss  his  hand  till  he  had  publicly  sworn  that  he  had  no 
part  whatever  in  the  assassination  of  his  brother. 

'  '  Don  Alfonso  !  Don  Alfonso ! 

Thou  art  heir  unto  this  throne ; 
None  thy  right  would  wish  to  question, 

None  thy  sovereignty  disown. 
But  the  people  sore  suspect  thee, 

That  by  thee  this  crime  was  done. 

'  Wherefore,  if  thou  be  bnt  guiltless, 

Straight  I  pray  of  thee  to  swear, 
Thou  and  twelve  of  these  thy  liegemen, 

Who  with  thee  in  exile  were, 
That  in  thy  late  brother's  death 

Thou  hadst  neither  part  nor  share, 
That  none  of  ye  to  his  murder 

Privy  or  consenting  were.'  ' 


232  THE   CID. 

The  king  agreed  to  take  this  oath,  and  the  public  ceremonial  was  appointed 
to  take  place  in  the  church  of  Santa  Gadea  at  Burgos — one  of  those  churches, 
says  Father  Berganza,  which  it  was  the  custom  in  those  days  in  Spain,  as  in 
other  countries  of  Europe,  to  set  apart  for  the  swearing  of  oaths,  in  order  that 
the  ceremony  might  thus  acquire  greater  awe  and  solemnity.  The  Cid  him- 
self administered  the  oath  on  ■  the  book  of  the  Evangelists,'  and  on  a  crucifix, 
or,  as  say  other  romances,  on  a  wooden  cross-bow  and  iron  bolt  which  had 
been  blessed  by  the  priest,  and  which  the  Cid  held  to  the  king's  breast  as  he 
uttered  these  words  : 

'  '  By  this  holy  roof  above  us, 
I  do  call  on  ye  to  swear, 
Don  Alfonso,  and  ye  nobles, — 
And  of  pei jury  beware  ; 

'  Swear  then — if  ye  to  the  murder 
Of  the  king  consenting  were  ; 
May  ye  die  a  villain's  death, 
If  ye  aught  but  truth  declare  !'  ' 

The  king  hesitated  a  moment,  but  one  of  his  favorite  knights  exclaimed  : 

'  '  Take  the  oath,  good  king,  I  pray  thee, 
Thou  no  hindrance  hast  or  let ; 
Pope  was  never  interdicted — 
King  was  never  traitor  yet.'  ' 

On  this  the  king  took  the  oath,  with  his  twelve  nobles.  Whether  it  was,  as 
the  Chronicle  says,  that  Alfonso  changed  color,  or  because  it  was  agreeable 
to  the  ancient  law  of  Castile,  the  Cid  insisted  upon  administering  the  oath 
three  times,  which  so  incensed  the  king  that  he  exclaimed, — 

'  '  Sore  thou  pressest  me,  Rodrigo ; 
Needless  thy  demand,  I  wiss. 
Though  to-day  thou  mak'st  me  swear, 
To-morrow  thou  my  hand  must  kiss. 
By  my  fay,  I  vow  that  on  thee 
I  will  be  aveng'd  for  this.' 

'  King  and  lord,  do  as  it  please  thee,' 

Thus  the  Cid  in  answer  said  ;    . 
'  As  a  knight  of  truth  and  honor 

I  have  duty's  hest  obey'd*'  ' 


THE   CID.  233 

According  to  one  romance,  the  king,  no  longer  able  to  control  his  wrath, 
replied — 

'  '  Out  upon  thee,  knight  disloyal, 
From  my  realm,  O  Cid,  begone ! 
And  return  not,  I  command  thee, 
Till  a  year  away  hath  flown.' 

'  Quoth  the  good  Cid,  '  King,  with  pleasure, 
I  thy  hest  obey  ;  nay  more, 
For  one  year  thou  dost  me  banish, 
I  will  exile  me  for  four.' 

'  Away  my  good  Cid  then  he  goeth, 
Nor  doth  kiss  the  monarch's  hand  ; 
Full  three  hundred  noble  knights 
Follow  at  the  Cid's  command.' 

Other  romances  agree  with  the  Chronicle  in  stating  that  the  Cid's  banish- 
ment was  much  subsequent  to  the  day  of  swearing,  though  from  that  time 
forth  the  king  bore  him  no  good  will.  In  truth,  he  was  not  enough  of  a  cour- 
tier to  gain  the  young  monarch's  favor  ;  he  was  too  sternly  honest  and  too 
plain-spoken  to  give  other  than  good  and  wholesome  counsel,  however  unpa- 
latable it  might  prove.  He  was  one  day  with  the  king  in  the  cloisters  of  San 
Pedro  de  Cardena,  when  Alfonso  proposed  to  him  to  go  and  attack  Cuenca, 
then  held  by  the  Moors.     Rodrigo  replied, — 

'  '  Thou  a  young  king  art,  Alfonso — 
New  thy  sceptre  in  the  land  ; 
Stablish  well  at  home  thy  power, 
Ere  thou  drawest  forth  the  brand. 

1  Grievous  ill  doth  ever  happen 

To  those  kings  who  war  espouse, 
When  their  new-gain'd  crowns  have  scarcely 
'Gan  to  warm  upon  their  brows.'  ' 

One  of  the  friars  here  took  up  the  word  for  the  king,  and  made  answer — 

'  '  Art  thou  sick  to  see  Ximena  ? 

Dreadeut  thou  the  toils  of  war  ? 
Leave  unto  the  king  th'  emprise — 
Back,  Rodrigo,  to  Bivarf  ' 

The  Cid  indignantly  exclaimed,  '  Who  called  thee,  thou  cowled  one,  to  a 


30 


234  THE   CID. 

council  of  war  1     Take  thy  cope,  good  friar,  to  the  choir,  and  leave  me  to  bear 
my  pennon  to  the  border  : 

'  '  Peril,  war,  fatigue,  ne'er  daunt  me ; 
Love  on  me  no  chains  hath  tied. 
More,  God  wot,  have  I,  Tizona 
Than  Ximena  by  my  side.'  ' 

Rodrigo'e  counsels  and  reproofs  were  in  truth  by  no  means  as  agreeable  to 
the  monarch  as  the  flatteries  of  the  sycophants  who  surrounded  him,  and  who, 
jealous  of  the  Cid's  great  power  and  fame,  did  their  utmost  to  foster  the 
king's  resentment  against  him.  Even  his  brilliant  success  in  a  campaign  into 
Andalucia  failed  to  conciliate  Alfonso,  and  he  lent  a  willing  ear  to  a  complaint 
made  shortly  after  against  the  Cid  by  Ali  Maimon,  the  Arab  King  of  Toledo, 
who  charged  him  with  having  laid  waste  his  territories,  and  taken  7000  cap- 
tives and  much  spoil. 

Though  this  foray  had  been  provoked  by  the  depredations  of  the  Arabs, 
Alfonso  chose  to  make  it  a  cloak  for  his  vengeance,  and  commanded  Rodrigo 
to  begone  from  Castile  in  nine  days,  confiscated  all  his  lands  and  goods,  and 
even  threatened  to  hang  •  the  Cid,  the  honor  of  his  realm.' 

Nobly  did  the  hero  reply, — 

1  '  1  obey,  O  king  Alfonso, 

Guilty  though  in  nought  I  be, 
For  it  doth  behoove  a  vassal 
To  obey  his  lord's  decree  ; 
Prompter  far  am  I  to  serve  thee 
Than  thou  art  to  guerdon  me. 

'  I  do  pray  our  Holy  Lady 
Her  protection  to  afford, 
That  thou  never  may'st  in  battle 
Need  the  Cid's  right  arm  and  sword. 

'  Well  I  wot  at  my  departure 

Without  sorrow  thou  canst  smile ; 
Well  I  wot  that  envious  spirits 
Noble  bosoms  can  beguile : 
But  time  will  show,  for  this  can  ne'er  be  hid, 
That  they  are  women  all,  but  I  the  Cid. 

'  These  high-soul'd  and  valiant  courtiers, 
Who  are  wont  with  thee  to  eat, 
Think  ye  that  their  lying  counsel 
For  a  kingly  ear  is  meet  ? 


THE   CID.  235 

4  Prithee  say,  where  were  these  gallants, 
(Bold  enough  when  far  from  blows,) 
Where  were  they,  when  I,  unaided, 
Rescued  thee  from  thirteen  foes  ?* 

1  Where  were  then  these  palace-warriors, 

That  for  thee  they  drew  no  brand  ? 
Verily,  we  all  do  know  them, 

Quick  of  tongue,  but  slow  of  hand. 
Yea,  time  will  show,  for  this  can  ne'er  be  hid, 

That  they  are  women  all,  but  1  the  Cid.' 

As  he  passed  through  the  streets  of  Burgos,  Rodrigo  was  met  on  every  side 
by  lamentations,  for  '  all  Castile  mourned  him  as  an  orphan  bewaileth  his 
sire.'f     The  women  cried  from  the  windows,  •  God  !  what  a  good  vassal  were 
he,  if  he  had  but  a  good  lord  !'  yet  none  dared  to  show  him  favor,  nor  even  to 
supply  him  with  provisions,  for  the  king  had  forbidden  it,  under  pain  of  loss  of 
goods  and  eyesight.     He  found  even  the  door  of  his  own  abode  barred  against 
him.     He  went  on  to  his  Castle  of  Bivar,  and,  finding  it  utterly  despoiled  by 
his  enemies,  he  was  perplexed  about  the  means  for  his  journey  into  exile,  for 
he  had  not  even  wherewithal  to  meet  the  expenses  of  the  way  : — 
'  Then  two  Jews  of  well-known  substance 
To  his  board  inviteth  he, 
And  of  them  a  thousand  florins 
Asketh  with  all  courtesy. 

'  Lo  !'  saith  he,  '  these  two  large  coffers, 

Laden  all  with  plate  they  be ; 
Take  them  for  the  thousand  florins — 

Take  them  for  security. 
In  one  year,  if  I  redeem  not, 

That  ye  sell  them,  I  agree.' 

*  The  romance  is  in  error  here,  for  the  reader  will  remember  that  it  was  Don  Sancho 
whom  the  Cid  rescued  from  fourteen  of  Alfonso's  knights,  or  rather  thirteen,  that  being 
the  number  overcome  by  the  Cid,  one  having  taken  to  flight.  It  seems  not  improbable 
that  this  romance  was  originally  written  with  a  reference  to  the  banishment  of  the  Cid  by 
Don  Sancho,  recorded  in  No.  V.  of  this  series  of  articles,  and  that  in  process  of  time  it 
came  to  be  applied  to  his  second  and  much  more  important  banishment  by  Don  Alfonso, 
undergoing,  in  its  course  of  oral  tradition,  such  alterations  and  additions  as  adapted  it  to 
the  latter  event,  while  the  allusion  to  the  rescue  was  ignorantly  suffered  to  remain. 

t  It  is  with  this  part  of  the  Cid's  history  that  the  Poem  begins.  We  shall  in  future 
trust  to  its  guidance  in  preference  to  that  of  the  Chronicle,  as  it  is  of  greater  antiquity, 
and  accords  better  with  the  romances. 


236  the  cn>. 

'  Trusting  to  the  Cid's  great  honor, 
Twice  the  sum  he  sought  they  lend ; 
To  their  hands  he  gave  the  coffers — 
Full  were  they  of  nought  but  sand  !' 

The  romancist,  in  astonishment  at  this,  the  only  base  action  recorded  of 
the  Cid,  breaks  forth — 

'  Oh,  thou  dire  necessity ! 

Oh,  how  many  a  noble  soul, 
To  escape  thy  gnawing  fetters, 
Hath  recourse  to  deeds  as  foul  !'* 

*  The  good  Cid  Campeador,  whom  God  keep  in  health  and  safety  !'  before 
quitting  his  native  land,  made  a  vigil  in  the  convent  of  San  Pedro  de  Cardena  ; 
for— 

'  The  Christian  knight  it  aye  behooveth, 
Ere  he  putteth  lance  in  rest, 
With  the  armor  of  the  church 
Well  to  fortify  his  breast.' 

When  mass  had  been  sung,  the  abbot  and  monks  blessed  his  pennon.  Then 
said  the  Cid,  holding  the  two  ends  of  the  pennon  in  his  hands — 

'  '  Holy  pennon  !  blessed  pennon  ! 
A  Castilian  beareth  thee 
Far  away  to  other  lands, 

Banish'd  by  his  lord's  decree. 

'  Lying  tongues  of  foul-mouth'd  traitors — 
Heaven's  curse  upon  them  light! — 
With  this  ill  the  king  have  counsell'd 
My  good  service  to  requite. 


*  One  of  these  chests  is  to  this  day  preserved  in  the  cloisters  of  Burgos  cathedral. 
The  Poem  of  the  Cid  describes  them  as  covered  with  red  leather,  and  studded  with  gilt- 
headed  nails  ;  but  this  covering,  if  such  ever  existed,  has  been  stripped  off,  and  you  now 
see  a  plain  wooden  chest,  about  four  feet  by  two,  strongly  bound  by  ribs  of  iron,  and 
fastened  by  three  antique  locks.  It  is  said  to  contain  certain  musty  documents  relative 
to  our  hero,  but  we  were  not  able  to  verify  the  report,  as  it  is  raised  to  the  height  of 
twenty  feet  or  more  from  the  ground,  and  supported  by  brackets  against  the  wall.  The 
wood  is  very  rotten,  and,  were  the  chest  within  the  reach  of  pilferers,  it  would  soon  cease 
to  exist. 


THE   CID.  237 

'  King  Alfonso !  King  Alfonso  ! 

Rouse,  bestir  thee,  rouse  and  think, 
These  vain  siren-songs  which  charm  thee 
Lull  thee  to  destruction's  brink. 

1  Sorely,  God  wot,  hast  thou  wrong'd  me, 
Yet  I  wish  thee  nought  but  good  ; 
For  to  suffer  wrongs  with  meekness 
Doth  betoken  noble  blood." 

'  I  forgive  thee, — yea,  to  prove  it, 
I  do  swear  to  yield  to  thee 
All  my  own  good  sword  may  henceforth 
Conquer  from  the  enemy.'  ' 

Then,  with  a  parting  embrace  of  Ximena  and  his  two  daughters,  whom  he 
commended  to  the  care  of  the  abbot  of  San  Pedro,  he  tore  himself  from  them 
'  as  the  nail  is  torn  from  the  flesh,'  and  went  forth,  leaving  them  '  drowned 
in  tears  and  speechless  woe.'  Turning  to  the  band  of  knights  who  deter- 
mined to  follow  his  fortunes,  he  said,  as  they  rode  away, — 

'  '  Comrades,  should  it  please  high  Heaven 

That  we  see  Castile  once  more — 
Though  we  now  go  forth  as  outcasts, 

Sad,  dishonor'd,  homeless,  pool- — 
We'll  return  with  glory  laden 

And  the  spoilings  of  the  Moor.'  ' 

'  He  was  resolved,'  says  the  historian  Mariana,  •  to  dispel  by  the  splendor 
of  his  deeds  the  clouds  of  calumny  with  which  his  enemies  had  assailed  him.' 

*  The  Cid  must  mean  wrongs  from  his  sovereign  alone,  for  he  was  not  the  man 
meekly  to  put  up  with  injury  from  his  equals,  and  we  have  his  own  word  for  it  that 
'  those  who  have  noble  escutcheons  cannot  brook  wrongs.' 


rtie  Gftf.-part  JStflijt^ 


'  Then  strike,  my  knights,  with  joyous  hearts  !  be  valiant  in  the  war, 
For  I'm  Rodrigo  of  Bivar,  the  Cid  Campeador!' 

Poem  of  the  Cid. 


It  were  a  tedious  task  to  follow  the  Cid  in  his  long  and  unremitting  course 
of  hostilities  against  the  Moslems,  after  his  exile  from  Castile.  The  romances 
indeed  omit  all  mention  of  many  of  the  exploits  he  performed  during  this 
period,  as  recorded  by  the  Poem  and  the  Chronicle.  Yet  we  must  not  pass 
them  over  in  utter  silence.  In  the  short  space  of  three  weeks  he  won  two 
strongholds  from  the  Moors,  and  defeated  a  powerful  force  sent  against  him 
from  Valencia.  Thirty  horses,  part  of  the  spoil,  each  with  a  scimitar  hanging 
at  the  saddle-bow,  he  sent  as  a  present  to  King  Alfonso,  who  received  the 
gift,  and  gave  permission  to  any  of  his  knights  to  join  the  Cid's  standard,  but 
thought  it  yet  too  early  to  grant  him  pardon.  Rodrigo  continued  his  forays 
into  the  Arab  territory,  ravaged  it  far  and  wide,  laid  many  of  the  principal 
cities  in  the  east  of  Spain  under  tribute,  and  gained  great  spoil  and  greater 
glory.  He  even  extended  his  incursions  as  far  south  as  Alicant.  Nor  was 
it  the  Moors  alone  with  whom  he  had  to  contend ;  for  he  signally  defeated 
and  captured  Ramon,  count  of  Barcelona,  and  won  from  him  the  famous  sword 
Colada,  •  worth  more  than  a  thousand  marks  of  silver.'  He  also  worsted  Don 
Pedro,  king  of  Aragon,  who  on  one  occasion  sent  one  hundred  and  fifty  horse- 
men to  surprise  him  as  he  was  riding  attended  by  only  a  dozen  knights  ;  but 
the  hero's  individual  prowess  saved  him,  and  he  routed  the  Aragonese  and 
captured  seven  of  their  number,  whom,  with  his  wonted  generosity,  he  imme- 
diately set  at  liberty. 

The  fortress  of  Rueda  had  been  wrested  from  the  Castilians  by  the  Moors, 
who  had  also  treacherously  slain  Ramiro,  the  son  of  Don  Alphonso.  This 
monarch  thereon  recalled  the  Cid  from  banishment,  and  prayed  him  to  march 


THE   CID.  239 

against  Rueda  and  reduce  it.  Rodrigo  kissed  the  royal  hand,  but  refused  to 
accept  the  offered  pardon,  unless  the  king  would  pledge  his  word  that  thence- 
forth every  hidalgo  under  sentence  of  banishment  should  have  thirty  days 
allowed  him  before  going  into  exile,  to  prove,  if  possible,  his  innocence  ;  for, 
said  he, 

'  '  Ne'er  should  be  a  vassal  banish'd 
Without  time  to  plead  his  cause ; 
Ne'er  should  king  his  people's  rights 
Trample  on  and  break  the  laws  ; 

'  Ne'er  should  he  his  liegemen  punish 
More  than  to  their  crimes  is  due, 
Lest  they  rise  into  rebellion — 
That  day  sorely  would  he  rue.' ' 

The  king  pledged  his  word  to  this,  and  the  Cid  marched  against  Rueda, 
was  as  usual  victorious,  and  on  his  return  was  received  with  all  honor  by  his 
grateful  sovereign.     This  took  place  a.  d.  1081. 

We  next  find  'the  good  one  of  Bibar'  captain-general  of  the  Christian 
force  before  Toledo,  which  for  some  years  had  been  besieged  by  Don  Al- 
fonso ;  and  on  its  surrender,  in  1085,  the  Cid  was  appointed  its  governor. 
The  ill  will  of  the  king  towards  him  was  not,  however,  entirely  removed,  but 
being  kept  alive  by  the  malicious  representations  of  the  Cid's  enemies,  a  pre- 
text was  soon  found  for  a  renewed  sentence  of  banishment.  He  pursued  his 
former  course  of  hostilities  against  the  Moors,  and  with  the  like  success,  and 
ere  long  had  carried  his  victorious  arms  to  the  gates  of  Valencia,  which  city 
he  resolved  to  make  his  own,  and  therefore  sent  heralds  through  Castile, 
Aragon,  and  Navarre,  proclaiming  that  all  who  loved  a  merry  life  and  a  glo- 
rious might  join  his  standard,  but  they  must  come  out  of  pure  love  of  blows. 
Adventurers  flocked  to  his  camp  from  all  quarters,  and  his  force  soon  amounted 
to  three  thousand  six  hundred  men.     He  then  laid  siege  to  the  city. 

In  hiB  camp  was  an  Austrian  knight,  named  Martin  Pelaez,  of  stout  and 
powerful  frame,  but  of  a  weak  and  craven  spirit.  When  the  Cid  and  his  fol- 
lowers were  one  day  engaged  in  deadly  combat  with  the  Paynims,  this  Pelaez 
left  the  fight  and  returned  secretly  to  his  tent,  where  he  remained  concealed 
till  the  battle  was  over,  and  the  Christians,  weary  of  the  work  of  elaughter, 
returned  to  refresh  themselves  in  the  camp. 

1  The  Cid  he  sat  him  down  to  eat, 
With  him  of  his  knights  sat  none, 


For  it  was  his  daily  wont 

At  his  board  to  sit  alone. 
At  another  sat  his  knights, 

All  who  were  of  high  renown.' 

For  60  did  the  good  Cid  ordain,  that  their  valor  might  be  made  known  to 
all,  and  that  the  rest  might  strive  to  emulate  them  in  the  field. 

'  Thinking  that  my  Cid  Rodrigo 

Had  not  witnessed  his  shame, 
In  came  Martin,  neat  and  cleansed, 

Straight  unto  the  board  he  came ; 
Where  did  sit  Don  Alvar  Fanez 

With  his  mighty  men  of  fame. 

'  Up  the  good  Cid  then  arose, 

Seiz'd  his  arm,  and  whisper'd  low, 
'  Friend,  to  eat  with  these  great  warriors 
Is  not  meet  for  such  as  thou. 

'  These  are  knights  of  proved  valor, 
Better  men  than  we  are  they ; 
Sit  thee  then  at  this  my  table, 
Of  my  viands  eat,  I  pray.' 

'  Down  then  sat  he  with  Rodrigo, 
At  his  board  with  him  did  eat ; 
Thus  the  Cid  with  wondrous  mildness 
Did  rebuke  him,  as  was  meet.' 

After  the  meal,  the  Cid,  with  the  same  considerate  gentleness,  took  him 
aside,  and  in  plain  terms  upbraided  him  with  his  cowardice.  '  Is  it  possible,' 
said  he,  '  that  a  man  nobly  born  as  thou  art,  can  fly  through  terror  of  the 
strife  1  Knowest  thou  not  that  it  is  honorable  to  die  on  the  battle-field  J 
Better  hadst  thou  turn  monk ;  peradventure  thou  mayest  be  able  to  serve 
God  in  the  cloister,  though  thou  canst  not  in  the  war.  Nathless,  try  once 
more  ;  go  forth  this  evening  to  the  fight,  place  thyself  at  my  side,  and  let  me 
see  what  spirit  thou  canst  show.' 

Deeply  did  Martin  feel  this  rebuke,  and  grievous  was  his  shame.  He  re- 
solved to  go  forth  to  the  field,  and  strive  to  redeem  his  character.  Accord- 
ingly, the  next  day,  when  the  Cid  and  his  host  rode  up  to  the  very  gates  of 
Valencia, 


THE    CID.  241 

'  Martin  was  the  first  that  rushed 

Headlong  on  the  coming  foe  : 
No  fear  then,  I  wot,  he  proved, 

Wondrous  valor  he  did  show  ; 
His  right  arm  wrought  grievous  slaughter, 

Many  Paynims  he  laid  low. 

'  As  they  fell  right  fast  before  him, 

'  Whence  this  furious  fiend  V  they  cried : 

'  Ne'er  have  we  beheld  such  valor  ; 
None  his  onset  can  abide.'  ' 

The  Saracens  were  driven  back  into  the  city,  and  Martin  returned  to  the 
camp,  his  arms  bathed  in  blood  up  to  the  elbows.  The  Cid  stood  awaiting 
him,  and  warmly  embracing  him,  said,  '  Friend  Martin,  thou  art  verily  a  good 
and  doughty  knight.  No  longer  must  thou  eat  with  me  at  table  ;  henceforth 
thou  shalt  sit  with  Alvar  Fanez,  my  cousin-german,  and  my  other  knights  of 
highest  valor  and  renown.'  From  that  day  forth  Martin  Pelaez  proved  him- 
self a  right  valiant  knight,  and  thus,  says  the  romance,  was  exemplified  the 
proverb — 

'  Who  to  a  good  tree  betakes  him, 
Shelter  good  he  there  will  find.' 

The  Valencians  being  hard  beset  and  hopeless  of  succor,  an  aged  prophet 
ascended  a  lofty  tower  on  the  ramparts,  and  when  he  beheld  the  city  so  fair 
and  beautiful,  and  the  camp  of  her  enemies  pitched  against  her,  his  heart 
smote  him  sore,  and  he  sighed  forth  this  lament : — 

'  '  Oh  Valencia !  my  Valencia  ! 
Worthy  thou  to  rule  for  aye  ; 
But  if  Allah  do  not  pity, 
Soon  thy  glory  must  decay. 

'  Lo  !  I  see  thy  mighty  ramparts 
Shake  and  totter  to  their  fall. 
Yea,  thy  proud  and  lofty  towers, 
And  thy  snowy  turrets  all, 

'  Which  thy  sons  rejoic'd  to  gaze  on, 
As  they  glitter'd  from  afar, 
Woe !  I  see  them  sink  and  crumble — 
Ruin  doth  their  beauty  mar. 

31 


242  THE   CID. 

'  See,  thy  fertilizing  river 

Now  hath  stray'd  from  out  its  bed  ; 
All  thy  springs  and  gushing  fountains 
Now  are  dried  up  at  their  head. 

'  Green  thy  fields  and  fair  thy  flowers 
As  they  once  in  beauty  shone ; 
Now  their  beauty  is  defiled, 

All  their  bloom  and  odour  gone. 

'  Yonder  broad  and  noble  strand, 

Once  thy  pride  and  once  thy  boast, 
Now  by  foot  of  foe  is  trampled — 
By  Castilla's  robber  host. 

'  Rapine,  death,  and  desolation, 

On  thy  land  these  Christians  pour ; 
Yea,  the  smoke  of  yonder  burnings 
All  the  landscape  doth  obscure. 

4  Gone  are  all  the  charms  which  made  thee 
To  thy  children  so  divine. 
Could  these  walls  but  weep  and  wail  thee, 
They  would  add  their  tears  to  mine. 

'  Oh  Valencia !  my  Valencia  ! 
Allah  quickly  succor  thee  ! 
Oft  have  I  foretold  what  now 
Sore  it  grieveth  me  to  see.'  ' 

After  a  siege  of  ten  months  the  Cid  gained  possession  of  the  city,  a.  d. 
1094,  and,  says  the  poem — 

'  Right  joyful  was  the  Perfect  One,  with  all  his  men  of  might, 
To  see  upon  Valencia's  keep  his  banner  waving  bright. 
All  who  were  squires  were  dubbed  knights  for  their  deeds'  sake  that  day ; 
How  much  of  gold  each  soldier  won,  I  prithee,  who  can  say  V  ' 

According  to  the  romances,  he  made  a  mild  and  generous  use  of  his  victory. 
He  gave  orders  that  the  dead  should  be  buried  and  the  sick  and  wounded 
attended  to,  and  cheered  the  citizens  by  assuring  them  that  respect  should  be 
paid  to  their  persons  and  property,  for  that  though  fierce  and  mighty  in  war, 
he  was  mild  and  gentle  in  peace.  But  the  Moorish  chroniclers  tell  a  different 
tale,  and  relate  the  cruelties  inflicted  upon  the  unhappy  governor  of  Valencia 
by  the  tyrant  Cambitor  (Campeador,)  'Allah  curse  him  !'     Rodrigo's  earliest 


the  cm.  243 

care  was  to  appoint  a  Christian  bishop  to  his  newly-won  city — '  God  !  how 
all  Christendom  did  rejoice  !'  His  next,  to  despatch  Alvar  Fanez  to  Burgos 
to  pray  the  king  Alfonso  for  the  company  of  Ximena  and  his  two  daughters, 
whom  he  had  left  in  the  care  of  the  abbot  of  S.  Pedro  de  Cardena.  He  told 
Don  Alvar  to  take  with  him  thirty  marks  of  gold  for  the  expenses  of  their 
journey  to  Valencia,  and  as  many  of  silver  for  the  abbot. 

1  '  To  the  worthy  Jews  two  hundred 
Marks  of  gold  bear  with  all  speed, 
With  as  many  more  of  silver, 
Which  they  lent  me  in  my  need, 

'  In  my  knightly  honor  trusting  ; 
But  I  basely  did  deceive, 
And  in  pledge  thereof  two  coffers 
Full  of  nought  but  sand  did  give. 


'  Pray  ye  of  them,  for  my  solace, 
Pray  them  now  to  pardon  me, 
Sith  with  sorrow  great  I  did  it 
Of  my  hard  necessity. 

'  Say,  albeit  within  the  coffers 

Nought  but  sand  they  can  espy, 
That  the  pure  gold  of  my  truth 
Deep  beneath^that  sand  doth  lie.'  ' 

He  sent  also  to  the  king  Alfonso,  'his  own  good  and  liege  lord,'  a  rich  gift 
of  captives,  horses,  and  treasures,  and  instructed  Don  Alvar  what  to  say  : 

1  '  Say,  friend,  to  the  king  Alfonso, 
May  it  please  him  now  to  take 
This  unworthy  gift  and  offering 
Which  a  banish'd  lord  doth  make ; 

1  Yea,  unworthy  all  in  value, 
But  some  favor  in  his  eyes 
It  may  gain  when  that  ye  tell  him 
'Tis  of  Christian  blood  the  price. 

'  In  two  years  with  my  good  falchion, 
I  have  won  more  land  than  he 
Did  inherit  from  his  father ; 
(May  he  now  in  glory  be  .') 


'  Tell  him  all  this  land  and  treasure, 
All  I  've  won  with  my  good  sword, 
I  do  hold  of  him  in  fief, 
As  a  vassal  of  his  lord. 

'  Yea,  I  pray  God  that  my  prowess 
To  his  wealth  may  increase  yield, 
While  my  heel  can  strike  Babieca, 
While  my  hand  Tizona  wield. 

'  One  boon  only  I  do  ask  him— 

Can  I  crave  this  boon  in  vain  ? 
That  he  send  my  lov'd  Ximena, 

And  my  tender  daughters  twain, 
Dearest  treasures  of  my  bosom, 

To  relieve  my  lonely  pain.'  ' 

Alvar  Fanez  faithfully  executed  his  mission,  and  repeated  his  lord's  words  in 
the  presence  of  the  king  at  Burgos.  Hardly  had  he  ceased  speaking,  when  a 
certain  count,  one  of  the  Cid's  enemies,  arose,  and  warned  the  king  to  beware 
of  deceit,  and  give  no  credit  to  what  he  had  heard.  '  Perchance  the  Cid 
meaneth  to  follow  his  gift,  and  beard  thee  to  thy  face  on  the  morrow.'  Alvar 
Fanez  plucked  his  bonnet  from  his  brows,  and  replied,  all  stammering  with 
rage, 

'  '  Let  none  stir,  upon  his  peril ! 

Speak  not !  none  of  ye — take  heed 
That  the  Cid  himself  is  present, 

For  I  stand  here  in  his  stead .' 

'  Who  will  dare  to  utter  falsehoods — 
Foul  and  lying  words  declare  ? 
In  the  Cid's  name,  I  do  warn  him, 
Let  him  of  his  head  have  care !'  ' 

Then  remembering  in  whose  presence  he  had  spoken,  Don  Alvar,  as  a  loyal 
knight,  asked  pardon  of  the  king,  without  however  retracting  aught  that,  he 
had  uttered.  The  result  of  his  mission  was  that  he  carried  back  to  Valencia 
Ximena  and  her  two  daughters,  to  the  great  joy  of  the  Cid. 

Soon  after  this,  the  great  Miramamolin,  king  of  Tunis,  landed  on  the  Spa- 
nish shore,  with  50,000  horse  and  a  countless  host  of  foot,  to  wrest  Valencia 
from  the  hands  of  the  Christians.  Rodrigo  took  Ximena  and  his  two  daughters 
to  the  roof  of  the  highest  tower  in  the  Alcazar,  or  citadel,  and  showed  them 
this  vast  armament. 


THE   CID.  245 

'  Toward  the  sea  they  cast  their  eyes — 
Foes  did  swarm  along  the  coast ; 
Round  about  the  town  they  looked — 
Every  where  a  mighty  host. 

'  Tents  were  pitching,  trenches  digging, 
All  to  battle  did  prepare  ; 
Shouts  of  men,  and  war-steeds  neighing, 
Drums  and  trumpets  rent  the  air.'  ' 

The  ladies  were  terrified  at  this  novel  sight,  but  the  Cid,  stroking  his  long 
beard,  cheered  them. 

'  '  Fear  not  thou,  my  lov'd  Ximena, 
Fear  not  ye,  my  daughters  dear, 
While  I  live  to  wield  Tizona, 

Ye,  I  wot,  have  nought  to  fear.'  ' 

1  See  ye  not,'  he  added,  '  that  the  more  numerous  the  foe,  the  richer  will  be 
the  spoil,  and  the  larger  your  dowries,  my  daughters  ?'  Verily  my  heart 
swelleth  now  that  ye  are  present  !'*  Perceiving  then  that  some  of  the  Moors 
had  entered  the  orchards  near  the  city,  he  despatched  Don  Alvar  Salvadores 
with  two  hundred  horse  to  drive  them  out,  and  make  a  slaughter  of  the  pagan 
dogs  for  the  gratification  of  the  ladies.  This  was  done,  the  Moors  were  driven 
out,  but  Don  Alvar,  too  eager  in  the  pursuit  of  the  flying  foe,  was  taken 
prisoner. 

On  the  morrow,  '  he  who  in  a  lucky  hour  girt  the  sword,'  as  the  Poem  fre- 
quently terms  the  Cid,  made  a  general  sally  against  the  Moors,  the  bishop  of 
Valencia,  who,  like  many  of  the  ecclesiastics  of  that  day,  was  as  expert  with 
the  sword  as  with  the  mass-book,  marching  in  complete  armor  at  the  head  of 
the  troops.  The  small  band  of  Christians  soon  found  themselves  in  imminent 
danger  of  being  hemmed  in  by  the  overwhelming  hosts  of  the  foe  : 

1  But  my  good  Cid,  this  perceiving, 
Rushed  on  the  enemy  ; 
'Gainst  their  ranks  he  spurr'd  Babieca, 
Shouting  loud  his  battle-cry, 

'  Aid  us,  God  and  Santiago  !' 
Many  a  Paynim  he  laid  low ; 
To  despatch  a  foe  he  never 
Needed  to  repeat  his  blow. 

*  This  saying  of  the  Cid,  '  The  more  Moors,  the  more  gain,'  became  proverbial  in 
,     Spain,  and  continues  so  at  the  present  day. 


246  THE   CID. 

'  Well  it  pleas'd  the  Cid  to  find  him 
Mounted  on  his  steed  once  more, 
With  his  right  arm  to  the  elbow 
Crimson'd  all  with  Moorish  gore.' 

The  Moors  took  to  flight  and  were  pursued  with  great  slaughter  by  the 
Christians  who  took  the  Moslem  camp,  where  they  found  Don  Alvar  Salva- 
dores,  with  a  vast  booty  in  gold  and  horses,  '  and  the  richest  tent  ever  seen 
in  Christendom,'  which  the  Cid  sent,  together  with  part  of  the  spoil,  to  '  Al- 
fonso the  Castillian.'  The  king,  overcome  by  the  Cid's  noble  forgetfulness 
of  wrongs,  thereon  granted  him  pardon  and  restored  him  to  favor. 


W*z  ©ft.— part  TSrtntf). 


'  God  grant,  who  all  created  hath,  and  over  all  is  Lord, 
That  to  my  Cid  these  weddings  may  content  and  joy  afford.' 

Poem. 
'  Some  there  be,  I  trow,  more  valiant 
With  their  feet  than  with  their  hands.' 

Romance. 


So  widely  was  the  renown  of  the  Cid  now  spread  abroad  through  the  world, 
that  the  Sultan  of  the  East,  the  renowned  Soliman,  hearing  of  his  valorous 
deeds,  sent  an  ambassador  to  Valencia  with  costly  presents  of  silks,  purple 
and  scarlet  cloth,  incense  and  myrrh,  and  gold  and  silver  ornaments,  in  token 
of  his  friendship,  charging  him  to  say,  '  As  the  Prophet  liveth,'  saith  my  lord, 
'  he  would  give  his  royal  crown  could  he  but  behold  thee  in  his  land.'  With 
great  courtesy  did  the  Cid  receive  the  ambassador,  replying,  that  were  his 
lord  a  Christian,  he  would  joyfully  visit  him.  Then  he  showed  him  all  his 
wealth  and  power,  and  the  pagan  returned  home  marvelling  greatly  at  his 
abundant  riches.  According  to  the  Chronicle,  the  Sultan  was  induced  to 
despatch  this  embassy,  not  so  much  from  disinterested  admiration  of  the  Cid's 
heroism,  as  to  deter  him  from  joining  the  princes  of  Europe  in  the  crusade 
which  had  been  proclaimed  against  him. 


THE   CED.  247 

At  this  time  also  the  two  counts  of  Carrion  were  induced,  by  the  great 
fame  and  wealth  of  the  Cid,  to  beseech  the  king  to  give  them  to  wife  his  two 
daughters,  Dona  Elvira  and  Dona  Sol.  Alfonso  wrote  to  the  Cid,  asking 
him  to  meet  him  at  Requena,  to  consult  with  him  on  the  matter.  Rodrigo 
did  not  much  relish  the  proposal,  thinking  the  counts  too  haughty  and  courtier- 
like for  his  sons-in-law  ;  but  he  advised  with  Ximena,  '  for  in  such-like  mat- 
ters,' says  the  romance,  with  much  truth,  '  women  are  wont  to  be  of  great 

importance.' 

'  Out  then  spake  the  dame  Ximena, 
'  Troth,  my  Cid,  no  wish  have  I 
To  ally  me  with  these  lordlings, 
Though  they  be  of  lineage  high. 

'  But  I  would  thou  in  this  matter 
Do  as  best  it  seemeth  thee  ; 
'Tween  thee  and  the  king,  of  counsel 
Good  and  wise  no  lack  can  be.'  ' 

•  When  was  ever  seen  in  Castile  so  many  choice  mules,  so  many  swift 
palfreys,  so  many  strong  and  sure-footed  chargers,  so  many  gay  pennons  flut- 
tering from  lance-heads,  so  many  shields  embossed  with  gold  and  silver,  so 
many  rich  garments  of  silk  and  fur,  as  when  the  Good  One  of  Bibar  met 
Alfonso  the  Castillian' at  Requena?  'He  who  in  a  lucky  hour  was  born' 
cast  himself  at  the  king's  feet,  but  Alfonso  raised  him  up,  telling  him  to  kiss 
his  hands  and  not  his  feet.  Mass  was  then  said,  and  the  king  opened  the 
matter  of  the  marriage.  The  Cid  returned  thanks  to  his  sovereign  for  the 
honor  intended  to  be  conferred  upon  him,  and  added  that  he,  his  daughters, 
and  all  he  possessed,  were  in  the  king's  hands,  to  be  dealt  with  as  it  pleased 
him  ;  •  for  whatever  his  lord  wished,  who  was  so  much  worthier  than  he,  that 
did  he  wish  also.'  Whereon  Alfonso  ordered  8000  marks  of  silver  to  be 
given  to  the  sisters  as  their  dowry,  and  deputed  Don  Alvar  Fanez,  their  kins- 
man, to  act  in  his  stead  in  giving  away  the  brides.  Then  he  commanded  the 
Counts  to  kiss  the  Cid's  hands  and  pay  him  homage  ;  and  the  Cid  departed 
with  them  for  Valencia,  having  first  invited  all  the  nobles  to  be  present  at 
the  ceremony.  The  double  wedding  took  place  accordingly,  and  for  eight 
days  all  was  feasting,  dancing,  jousting,  and  bull-fighting  within  the  city  of 
Valencia.  The  Cid,  according  to  the  custom  of  those  days,  gave  gifts  of 
great  value  to  the  lords  and  magnates  present ;  for  as  the  romance  sagaciously 
observes, 

'  He  who's  great  in  deeds  of  battle, 
Will  be  great  in  all  beside.' 


248  THE    CID. 

These  two  counts  of  Carrion  were,  however,  sad  cravens  ;  not  worthy  to  be 
the  sons-in-law  of  the  Cid.  They  chanced  one  day  to  be  sitting  joking  with 
Don  Bermudo,  one  of  the  Cid's  nephews,  in  the  same  room  where  Rodrigo 
himself  lay  stretched  on  his  couch  in  an  after-dinner  slumber,  when 

'  Lo,  loud  outcries  rent  the  palace, 
Shook  its  walls  and  turrets  high ! 
1  Ware  the  lion  !  ware  the  lion ! 
He  is  loose !'  was  heard  the  cry. 

'  Don  Bermudo  nought  was  moved, 
Nought  his  soul  could  terrify ; 
But  the  brother  counts  of  Carrion 
'Gan  right  speedily  to  fly.' 

Fernan  Gonzales,  the  younger,  crept  for  protection  under  the  Cid's  couch, 
and  in  so  doing  burst  his  garment  across  the  shoulders ;  while  Diego  his 
brother  betook  himself  for  refuge  to  a  dirty  closet  hard  by,  or,  as  the  Poem 
says,  crept  beneath  the  beam  of  a  wine-press.  Bermudo  drew  his  sword  and 
put  himself  on  his  guard.  The  uproar  awoke  the  Cid,  who  started  from  his 
couch  just  as  the  furious  beast,  followed  by  a  number  of  armed  men,  entered 
the  hall.  To  the  astonishment  of  all,  the  lion  came  crouching  and  fawning 
to  the  feet  of  the  Cid.  The  romance  hints  that  this  was  a  miracle.  It  was 
certainly  not  less  marvellous  that  Rodrigo  threw  his  arms  about  the  beast, 
and  '  with  a  thousand  caresses'  bore  him  off  to  his  den  without  receiving 
any  injury.  Returning  to  the  hall,  he  inquired  for  his  sons-in-law  ;  and 
when  they  were  dragged  ignominiously  from  their  places  of  refuge,  their 
bridal  gear  woefully  disarranged  and  soiled,  '  never  was  beheld  such  merri- 
ment as  ran  through  the  court.'  The  Cid,  gazing  on  each  in  turn,  was  for 
some  moments  unable  to  speak,  through  the  excess  of  his  astonishment  and 
indignation. 

'  '  God  !  are  these  your  wedding  garments  ? 
In  the  devil's  name,  what  fright, — 
Say  what  terror  hath  possess'd  ye, 
That  ye  thus  should  take  to  flight  ? 

'  Had  ye  not  your  weapons  by  ye  ; 
Why  then  fled  ye  in  such  haste  ? 
Was  the  Cid  not  here  1 — then  surely 
Ye  could  stand  and  see  the  beast. 


THE   CID.  249 

'  Of  the  king  ye  sought  my  daughters, 
Thinking  they  had  gold  and  land  ; 
God  wot,  I  did  never  choose  ye, 
But  I  bow'd  to  his  command. 

'  Are  ye  then  the  sons  I  needed, 
To  protect  me  when  I'm  old  ? 
Zounds  .'  a  good  old  age  will  mine  be, 
Since  ye  are  as  women  bold.'  ' 

According  to  the  Poem,  the  Cid  did  not  reproach  the  counts,  and  suppressed 
the  mirth  of  his  knights,  when  they  were  disposed  to  be  merry  at  their  ex- 
pense. However  this  be,  the  Counts  were  stung  with  shame,  and  secretly 
swore  to  obtain  revenge.  The  Cid,  with  his  wonted  generosity,  seems  soon 
to  have  forgiven  them  ;  for  in  a  council  of  war  convoked  shortly  after,  on  the 
occasion  of  Bucar,  king  of  Morocco,  beleaguering  the  city  with  a  vast  host, 
he  made  them  sit  at  his  right  hand,  though,  while  he,  as  the  romance  beauti- 
fully expresses  it, 

'  With  excess  of  valor  trembled, 
They  with  utter  fear  did  quake.' 

The  Moorish  king  sent  a  herald  to  Valencia  to  demand  the  immediate  sur- 
render of  the  city.     This  was  the  Cid's  reply  : — 

'  '  Let  your  king  prepare  his  battle, 
I  shall  straightway  order  mine ; 
Right  dear  hath  Valencia  cost  me, 
Think  not  I  will  it  resign. 

'  Hard  the  strife,  and  sore  the  slaughter, 
But  I  won  the  victory  ; 
Thanks  to  God  and  to  the  valor 
Of  Castillian  chivalry  !'  ' 

As  Ximena  with  her  own  hands  was  arming  her  lord  for  the  field,  he  gave 
her  these  parting  instructions : — 

' '  If  with  deadly  wounds  in  battle, 
I  this  day  my  breath  resign  ; 
To  San  Pedro  de  Cardeila 

Bear  me  straight,  Ximena  mine. 

'  Wail  me  not,  lest  some  base  panic 
On  my  chiefless  warriors  seize  ; 
But  amid  the  call  to  battle 
Make  my  funeral  obsequies. 

33 


250  the  cm. 

'  This,  my  lov'd  Tizon,  whose  gleamings 
Every  foeman's  heart  appal; 
Never  let  it  lose  its  glory, 

Ne'er  to  hands  of  women  fall, 

'  Should  God  will  that  Babieca 
Quit  the  strife  alone  this  day ; 
And  without  his  lord  returning,- 
At  thy  gate  aloud  should  neigh; 

'  Open  to  him  and  caress  him, 

Let  him  well  be  hous'd  and  fed  ; 
He  who  well  his  master  serveth, 
Right  well  should  be  guerdoned. 

'  Dear  one,  give  me  now  thy  blessing ! 

Dry  thine  eyes  and  cease  to  mourn !'  ' 
Then  my  Cid,  he  spur'd  to  battle — 
'  Grant  him,  Heaven,  a  safe  return  !' ' 

The  Cid,  knowing  the  cowardice  of  his  sons-in-law,  advised  them  to  remain 
within  the  city,  and  not  sally  forth  with  him  to  the  war ;  but  they  angrily 
announced  their  intention  to  accompany  him.  During  the  combat  a  bold  and 
stalwart  Moor  came  up,  lance  in  hand,  to  assail  the  younger  of  the  Counts, 
who  dared  not  abide  his  onset,  but  instantly  turned  and  fled.  None  witnessed 
his  cowardice  but  Don  Ordono,  the  Cid's  nephew,  and  he  pursued  the  Moor, 
slew  him,  spoiled  him  of  his  horse  and  arms,  and  generously  offered  them  to 
the  Count. 

* '  Take  this  steed  and  spoil,  Don  Fernan, 
Say  lhat  thou  the  Moor  didst  slay  ; 
On  my  knightly  troth  I  pledge  thee, 
Never  will  I  this  gainsay ; 

'  Saving  thou  to  speak  compel  me, 
None  shall  ever  know  I  he  truth.' 

The  Count  was  base  enough  to  accept  this  offer  of  second-hand  glory,  and 
was  highly  extolled  for  his  valor  by  the  Cid,  who  came  up  at  the  instant.  He 
stroked  his  beard,  and  said,  '  I  thank  Christ,  Lord  of  the  world,  that  my  sons- 
in-law  have  fought  so  nobly  with  me  in  the  field.'  Victory,  as  usual,  declared 
for  *  him  who  in  a  lucky  hour  girt  the  sword,'  and  my  Cid  returned  to  Valencia 
with  eighteen  Moorish  kings  as  trophies  of  his  prowess,  and  with  the  re- 
nowned sword  Tizona,  '  worth  more  than  a  thousand  marks  of  gold,'  which 


THE   CtD.  251 

he  had  won  from  the  royal  grasp  of  Bucar,  who  narrowly  escaped  swelling 
the  number  of  his  captives,* 

The  brother  Counts  had  meanwhile  "been  plotting  revenge  against  the  Cid, 
and  no  less  cruel  than  cowardly,  they  resolved  to  take  it  on  the  persons  of  his 
daughters.  They  demanded  their  wives,  that  they  might  depart  with  them 
to  their  own  land.  Rodrigo  committed  his  daughters  to  them ;  but  having 
seen  by  the  flight  of  birds,  that  the  nuptials  would  not  be  propitious,  he 
charged  them  to  treat  them  with  all  gentleness  and  kindness.  This  the 
Counts  promised  ;  and  the  Cid,  who  bad  begun  to  hope  better  things  of  their 
courage,  gave  them  as  parting  gifts  his  two  swords — Tizona  and  Colada, 
which  he  called  *  the  best  of  all  his  goods,'  together  with  chains  of  gold  of 
costly  Arabian  workmanship,  presents  to  him  from  the  Sultan,  vessels  of  gold 
and  silver,  and  many  mules  and  war-horses.  He  and  his  knights  also  ac- 
companied them  for  the  distance  of  a  league  from  the  city. 

'  The  Cid  he  parted  from  his  daughters, 
Nought  could  he  his  grief  disguise ; 
As  he  clasped  them  to  his  bosom, 
Tears  did  stream  from  out  his  eyes.' 

And  he  exclaimed,  '  Of  a  truth  ye  tear  from  me  the  very  cords  of  my  heart !' 
He  had  a  presentiment  of  some  evil  about  to  befall  them,  and  he  charged  his 
nephew  Ordono  to  disguise  himself  and  follow  the  Counts.  These  craven 
knights  continued  their  journey,  and  were  everywhere  well  received  for  the 
Cid's  sake.  Arriving  at  length  at  Tormes,  which  was  beyond  his  territories, 
they  came  to  a  halt,  and  ordered  all  their  train  to  go  forward,  saying,  that  they 
and  their  wives  would  follow  anon.  Then,  entering  a  thick  oak  wood,  hard 
by  the  road,  they  dragged  their  wives  from  their  mules,  tore  all  the  clothes 
from  their  backs,  seized  them  by  the  hair  and  dragged  them  to  and  fro  over 
the  rough  ground,  buffeted  and  lashed  their  naked  flesh  with  their  saddle- 
girths,  kicked  them  barbarously  with  their  rowelled  heels,  till  their  tender 
bodies,  '  white  as  the  sun,'  were  bathed  in  blood — all  the  while  pouring  forth 
the  most  opprobrious  language — and  finally  lashed  them  to  trees,  saying,  as 
they  left  them  to  die  of  starvation,  or  to  be  torn  to  pieces  by  the  wild  beasts 
of  the  forest, 

*  Though  a  few  of  the  romiinces  agree  with  the  Chronicle  and  Foem  in  stating  that 
Tizona  was  won  from  Bucar  at  this  time,  the  rest  make  frequent  mention  of  it  as  wielded 
by  our  hero  during  the  greater  portion  of  his  life.  Such  anachronisms  are  among  the 
natural  faults  of  ballad  history. 


XD6  THE    CID. 

'  '  Vengeance  on  your  cursed  sire 

Have  we  now  obtain'd  in  ye ; 
•   We  have  done  with  ye — ye  are  not 

Fit  to  mate  with  such  as  we.' ' 

They  then  rode  after  their  people,  and  answered  their  inquiries  after  the 
ladies,  by  saying,  '  they  are  well  cared  for.' 

The  poor  women  rent  the  air  with  their  shrieks,  calling  upon  heaven  for 
vengeance, — 

'  It  was  not  the  wounds  and  lashes — 
Not  the  pain  that  caus'd  their  woe  : 
'Twas  the  shame,  the  foul  dishonor — 
Deadliest  ills  that  women  know.' 

Don  Ordono,  who  was  following  the  Counts  at  a  distance  in  the  garb  of  a 
pilgrim,  heard  their  cries  and  entered  the  wood.  On  beholding  his  cousins  in 
such  a  state,  he  rent  his  clothes,  tore  his  hair,  and  thundered  out  a  thousand 
curses  on  the  heads  of  the  recreant  Counts.  He  untied  the  ladies,  made  them 
a  couch  of  leaves  and  grass,  threw  his  own  cloak  over  them,  and  left  them  to 
seek  assistance,  saying,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  as  he  strove  to  comfort  them, — 

' '  Cheer  up,  cousins,  be  not  downcast, 
Heaven's  will  must  aye  be  done; 
Wherefore  this  thing  hath  befallen  ye, 
It  is  known  to  God  alone. 

'  Lay  nought  to  your  sire,  I  pray  ye, 

He  obey'd  the  king's  command; 

Your  sire  he  is  the  Cid,  fair  ladies, 

Leave  your  honor  in  his  hands.' ' 

He  soon  returned  with  an  honest  peasant,  who  conveyed  them  to  his  own 
cot,  where  his  wife  and  daughters  tended  them  with  great  care  and  tenderness. 

Don  Ordono  straightway  returned  to  Valencia  and  told  his  tale.  Rodrigo 
restrained  all  expression  of  his  feelings  : 

'  My  Cid  he  seemed  nothing  moved, 
Though  his  grief  was  sore  and  deep : 
Him  who  looketh  for  his  vengeance, 
It  behooveth  not  to  weep.' 

But  Ximena  gave  vent  to  her  sorrow  in  floods  of  tears.  The  Cid  consoled 
her,  swearing  by  his  beard,  '  which  none  had  ever  cut,'  that  she  should  have 


THE   CID.  253 

speedy  vengeance,  and  despatched  messengers  forthwith  to  the  king,  demand- 
ing justice.  According  to  another  romance,  the  Cid  went  in  person  to  the 
royal  palace  at  Leon.  It  was  the  hour  of  mid-day  by  the  clock,  and  the  king 
was  seated  at  dinner  with  his  nobles,  when  the  Cid,  pale  as  death,  and  in  com- 
plete armor,  strode  into  the  hall,  and  fixing  his  eyes  on  the  king,  exclaimed, — 

' '  Justice  may  I  have  of  Heaven, 
If  I  can  have  none  of  thee.' ' 

All  the  nobles  ceased  to  eat,  in  amazement  at  these  words  of  the  Cid  ;  his 
friends  moved  by  anxiety,  his  foes  by  terror.    After  a  pause  he  continued, — 

' '  Vengeance,  king !  I  pray  thee  vengeance ! 
Do  I  ask  this  right  in  vain  ? 
I  have  oft  in  blood  of  traitors 

Wash'd  mine  honor  from  all  stain ; 
But  to  thee  I  would  leave  vengeance, 
For  to  thee  it  doth  pertain. 

'  Lo !  my  daughters  have  been  outrag'd ! 
For  thine  own,  thy  kingdom's  sake, 
Look,  Alfonso,  to  mine  honor ! 
Vengeance  thou  or  I  must  take. 

'  If  I  have  aggriev'd  these  traitors, 
Let  me  meet  them  in  the  fight — 
This  right  arm  and  this  good  falchion 
Soon  shall  show  ye  who  hath  right.' ' 

King  Alfonso  was  exceeding  wrathful  when  he  heard  this,  and  to  confront 
the  Counts  with  the  Cid,  he  commanded  that  a  Cortes  should  be  proclaimed 
to  be  held  at  Toledo,  and  whosoever  of  his  nobles  did  not  obey  the  summons 
within  thirty  days,  (or  three  months,  as  the  Chronicle  has  it,)  should  be  ac- 
counted a  traitor  and  a  rebel. 


Eije  <£tty.-jpart  ©cnttj. 


May  the  God  in  heaven  protect  thee; 
Guard  thee  from  all  treachery !' 


When  the  time  was  come  for  the  departure  of  the  Cid  for  Toledo,  to  join 
the  Cortes,  which  had  been  convoked  by  the  king,  he  arrayed  himself '  in 
sable  armor  studded  with  golden  crosses  from  the  gorget  unto  the  greaves,' 
mounted  his  horse  Babieca,  and  was  arranging  his  cloak  about  him,  when 
Ximena  seized  his  stirrup,  and  thus  addressed  him : — 

' '  Look  ye  well,  my  Lord  Rodrigo, 
That  thy  vengeance  perfect  be, 
For  the  shame  that  through  thy  daughters 
These  base  counts  have  brought  on  thee! 

'  Can  it  be  that  two  such  cravens 
To  affront  my  Cid  can  dare, 
When  two  thousand  mailed  warriors 
Would  not  meet  thee  in  the  war? 

'  May  the  God  in  heaven  protect  thee ; 

Guard  thee  from  all  treachery! 
For  such  as  are  cruel  and  craven, 
Well,  me  thinks,  may  traitors  be.' ' 

•  Enter  not,  my  lord,'  she  added,  '  into  battle  with  these  men ;  verily,  it 
behooveth  not  one  who  hath  vanquished  so  many  kings  thus  to  tarnish  his 
glory  ;  honor  not  with  thy  sword  the  filthy  blood  of  these  counts,  for  Babieca, 
with  his  neighing  alone,  hath  overthrown  much  stouter  foes.'  Having  com- 
mitted her  and  his  daughters  to  the  care  of  Martin  Pelaez,  the  Cid  struck 
spurs  into  his  steed,  and  set  out  for  Toledo. 

Sorely  did  the  Counts  of  Carrion  dread  to  attend  the  Cortes,  knowing  they 


THE   CID.  255 

should  there  meet  the  Cid  ;  but  lest  they  should  not  be  held  for  good  and  true 
liegemen,  they  obeyed  the  summons,  accompanied  by  their  uncle  Don  Suero, 
who  had  been  with  them  in  Valencia,  and  had  counselled  them  to  their  das- 
tardly revenge.  The  thirty  days  allowed  by  the  king  for  his  nobles  to  attend 
the  Cortes  and  prove  their  loyalty,  passed,  and  the  Cid  came  not. 

'  Out  then  spake  the  Counts  of  Carrion, 
'  Hold  him,  king,  a  traitor  now!' 
But  the  good  king  gave  then  answer, 
'  Traitor ! — none  is  he,  I  trow. 

'  My  Cid  he  is  right  true  and  loyal ; 
He  hath  won  full  muny  a  field  ', 
Yea,  in  all  my  wide  dominions 

None  like  him  the  sword  can  wield.'  ' 

As  he  thus  spake,  in  came  the  Cid  with  nine  hundred  hidalgos  in  his  train, 
clad  in  robes  of  the  same  cloth  and  hue,  and  thus  saluted  the  king: 

' '  God  preserve  thee,  king  Alfonso! 
May  God  keep  ye,  nobles  all ! 
Save  yon  caitiff  Counts  of  Carrion: 
Heaven's  vengeance  on  them  fall.' ' 

He  would  have  cast  himself  to  the  earth  at  the  king's  feet,  but  Alfonso 
swore  by  St.  Isidore,  (his  favorite  oath,)  that  it  should  not  be  so.  '  We  salute 
thee,  Cid,  with  heart  and  soul ;  what  grieveth  thy  heart,  grieveth  ours  also.' 
Whereon  the  Cid  kissed  his  monarch's  hands.  The  Court  was  adjourned 
to  the  following  day ;  and  •  he  who  in  a  good  hour  girt  sword,'  spent  the  night 
in  prayer  and  watching  in  San  Servan.* 

The  Cortes  assembled  the  next  morning  in  the  palace  of  Galiana,  in  a 
council-chamber  hung  with  costly  brocade,  and  carpeted  with  velvet.  The 
poem  gives  a  full  description  of  the  dress  our  hero  wore  on  this  occasion ; 
and  considering  the  great  antiquity  of  that  work,  it  is  much  more  likely  to  be 
accurate  and  characteristic  of  the  age,  than  the  descriptions  of  costume  con- 
tained in  the  romances,  which,  being  preserved  orally,  were  subjected  to  the 

*  We  think  the  poem  must  here  refer  to  a  castle  of  that  name  which  still  stands,  though 
in  ruins,  on  a  height  to  the  east  of  Toledo.  It  is  said  to  huve  been  built  by  the  Moors, 
and  if  so,  must  have  existed  in  the  time  of  the  Cid  ;  and  it  was  probably  in  this,  or  in  a 
sanctuary  in  the  immediate  neighborhood,  that  he  kept  his  vigils,  as  it  is  evident  that  it 
was  without  the  city,  and  on  the  opposite  bank  of  the  Tagus. 


256  THE   CID. 

alterations  of  many  succeeding  ages.  It  is  briefly  this : — Hose  of  fine  cloth, 
with  elaborately  wrought  shoes  ;  a  linen  shirt,  '  white  as  the  sun,'  with  fast- 
enings of  gold  and  silver,  and  tight  wristbands  :  a  gold-embroidered  tunic  worn 
under  a  red  fleece  fringed  with  gold,  which  fleece  *  my  Cid  was  always  wont 
to  wear,'  even  over  his  hauberk  of  mail ;  and  over  all  a  mantle  of  great  price. 
His  head  was  covered  with  a  scarlet  cap  worked  with  gold,  and  his  long  beard 
was  tied  up  with  a  cord.  In  his  beard  the  Cid  took  great  pride,  and  never 
suffered  it  to  be  cut,  so  that  ■  it  was  the  talk  of  both  of  Moors  and  Christians,' 
for,  according  to  the  poem,  he  had  sworn,  on  taking  Valencia — 

' '  By  the  love  of  King  Alfonso,  who  hath  exiled  me  from  home, 
No  hair  shall  of  my  beard  be  cut,  no  shears  unto  it  come.' ' 

When  the  Cid  entered  the  Cortes,  his  long  beard  struck  admiration  and 
awe  into  all  present,  and  all  gazed  steadfastly  on  him,  for  right  manly  was 
his  aspect ' — all  save  the  Counts  of  Carrion,  who  dared  not  for  shame  regard 
him. 

The  king  opened  the  court  by  enjoining  silence.  He  next  appointed  six 
alcaldes  or  judges,  from  his  own  royal  council,  and  made  them  swear  by  the 
Evangelists  that  they  would  thoroughly  inform  themselves  of  the  evidence  on 
both  sides,  and  judge  without  fear,  favor,  or  prejudice.  Then  he  called  upon 
the  Cid  to  state  his  charge.  'He  of  the  long  beard'  straight  arose,  and  com- 
menced by  urging  his  claims  : 

' '  Long  it  is,  oh !  King  Alfonso, 
Many  a  year  hath  passed  o'er, 
Since  Tizona  in  thy  service 

Hath  been  clean  of  Paynim  gore. 

1  Many  a  weary  year  Ximena 

On  her  widow'd  couch  hath  mourned, 
While  a  thousand  Moorish  banners 
In  the  battle  I  o'erturned.' ' 

He  proceeded  to  state  his  charge  against  the  Counts,  and  then  demanded 
his  two  swords  Tizona  and  Colada,  for  they  belonged  not  to  the  Counts,  who 
were  no  longer  his  sons-in-law ;  and  he  said  they  must  be  '  an  hungered,  as 
they  were  not  fed  as  in  former  days."  The  king  turned  to  the  Counts,  but 
they  said  nought  in  their  defence,  and  the  judges  ordered  them  to  restore  the 
swords  to  him  who  had  won  them.  The  Chronicle  says  that  they  refused  to 
obey  this  command  ;  whereon  the  king  arose  in  great  wrath,  and  took  them 
from  their  hands,  and  delivered  them  to  the  Cid.     Rodrigo  received  them  with 


THE    CID.  257 

great  delight ;  '  his  whole  body  was  gladdened  and  his  heart  laughed  with 
joy  ;"  and  he  called  them  his  dear  pledges,  not  precious  because  bought  with 
gold  or  silver,  but  dearly  purchased  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow  in  battle.  He 
next  demanded  that  the  two  thousand  marks  and  all  the  jewels  he  had  given 
his  daughters  on  their  wedding-day  should  be  returned  to  him.  The  judges, 
seeing  that  the  Counts  had  deserted  their  wives,  immediately  acceded  to  this 
demand,  and  called  upon  the  Counts  to  pay  back  the  dowries,  which  they  did 
by  delivering  up  horses,  mules,  and  swords  to  the  full  value.  The  Cid  a  third 
time  arose  from  his  seat,  and  with  eyes  flashing  with  ire,  and  hand  grasping 
his  beard,  which  •  no  son  of  woman  had  ever  touched,'  he  opened  his  grand 
charge  against  them,  calling  them  '  false  and  villain-hearted  dogs  of  traitors. 
....  As  God  liveth,  ye  are  brave  knights  to  lay  hands  on  women ;  had  ye 
to  do  with  king  Bucar,  I  wot,  we  should  hear  another  tale.  Right  truly  saith 
the  proverb,  that  some  warriors  are  as  valiant  with  their  feet  as  others  with 
their  hands.  Ye,  methinks,  are  of  the  former.'  In  conclusion  he  challenged 
the  Counts  and  their  uncle  to  mortal  combat,  for  the  stain  they  had  inflicted 
on  his  honor  was  one  which  blood  alone  could  wash  away. 
Hereon  the  king  called  upon  the  Counts  for  their  defence  : 

'  Out  and  spake  the  elder  brother, 
Turning  to  the  king,  said  he, 
'  Sire,  thou  knowest  we  are  noblest 
Of  Castile's  nobility. 

'  Time  it  is,  we  left  these  women, 
Whom  it  was  not  meet  to  wed. 
Dire  disgrace  it  were  to  mate  us 
With  the  daughters  of  the  Cid.'  ' 

Furious  was  the  rage  of  the  Cid's  followers,  but  all  held  their  peace  save 
Don  Ordono,  his  nephew,  who  exclaimed, — 

1  '  Hold  thy  lying  tongue,  Diego, 
Utter  not  such  falsehood  foul ! 
Strong  and  stalwart  is  thy  body, 
But  thou  hast  a  craven  soul.'  ' 

1  Thou  tongue  without  hands  !  how  durst  thou  speak  thus  ]  Inasmuch  as 
they  are  women,  and  ye  are  men,  they  are  in  all  respects  better  and  worthier 
than  ye.'  4  Remember,'  he  proceeds  to  say  to  the  other  brother,  •  thy  shame- 
ful flight  from  the  Moor  beneath  the  walls  of  Valencia,  when  I  slew  thine 


33 


258  THE    CID. 

adversary  for  thee,  and  gave  thee  his  spoil  to  show  it  as  a  trophy  of  thy 
prowess.     I  did  it  to  honor  thee,  for  that  thou  hadst  wedded  my  cousin  : — 

'  '  Nought  of  this  have  I  e'er  utter'd, 

Nought  should  from  my  lips  depart, 
Were  I  not  this  day  constrained 
To  proclaim  how  vile  thou  art.'  ' 

He  then  reminds  them  both  of  their  cowardice  when  the  lion  broke  loose, 
and  ends  by  branding  them  with  baseness  and  cruelty  : 

'  '  He  's  no  noble,  maugre  lineage, 
Who  doth  chivalry  despite  ; 
He  who  layeth  hands  on  women 
Is  a  villain,  and  no  knight.'  ' 

The  Counts  with  their  uncle  Suero  Gonzalez,  were  obliged  to  accept  the 
challenge,  for  by  victory  alone  could  they  hope  to  establish  themselves  guilt- 
less of  the  charges  brought  against  them  ;  and  the  Cid  was  called  upon  by 
the  king  to  appoint  three  knights  to  do  battle  in  his  name,  which  he  did,  to 
wit,  Pedro  Bermudez,  Martin  Antolinez,  and  Nuno  Bustos.  As  the  court 
broke  up,  messengers  came  in  from  Navarre  and  Arragon,  demanding  the 
Cid's  daughters  in  marriage, — Dona  Elvira,  the  eldest,  for  Don  Ramiro,  son 
of  the  king  of  Navarre,  and  Dona  Sol  for  Don  Sancho,  heir  to  the  throne  of 
Arragon. 

My  Cid  had  already  set  out  for  Valencia,  when  he  turned  his  rein  and  be- 
sought the  king  to  take  Babieca,  saying,  that  it  was  not  meet  that  he  should 
keep  so  renowned  a  steed,  which  belonged  of  right  to  his  liege  lord.  '  Nay,' 
said  the  king,  '  not  so  ;  for  were  I  to  take  him,  he  would  not  have  so  good  a 
master  as  now.  Verily,  if  he  were  mine,  I  would  give  him  to  thee,  as  to  him 
who  could  employ  him  with  most  honor  to  himself  and  to  me.'  Then  the 
king  crossed  himself  and  said,  •  I  swear  by  St.  Isidore,  that  in  all  my  realm 
there  is  none  like  unto  the  Cid  !'  Rodrigo  kissed  his  lord's  hands,  and  with 
great  joy  and  contentment  proceeded  on  his  way. 

The  traitor  Counts  excused  themselves  from  the  combat  in  Toledo,  on  the 
ground  that  they  could  not  equip  themselves  to  their  satisfaction,  save  in  their 
own  town  of  Carrion.  King  Alfonso,  therefore,  courteously  allowed  them  to 
depart,  and  followed  them  to  Carrion,  with  the  six  judges  of  the  fight  and  the 
three  knights  appointed  to  do  battle  in  the  Cid's  name.  In  the  plain  adjacent 
to  the  town  he  found  the  tents  pitched  and  every  thing  prepared  for  the  bat- 
tle, but  the  kinsmen  and  partisans  of  the  Counts  mustered  in  such  numbers, 


the  cn>.  259 

and  were  so  formidably  armed,  that  Alfonso  suspected  treachery,  and,  knowing 
the  Counts  to  have  more  treason  than  valor,  he  caused  it  to  be  proclaimed, — 

'  Whoso  shall  do  wrong  or  outrage 
To  the  squires  of  the  Cid, 
List !  his  head  and  his  possessions 
Straightway  shall  be  forfeited.' 

This  grieved  the  Counts  sore,  for  they  had  agreed  with  their  followers  to 
slay  the  Cid's  men  before  the  combat ;  then  they  besought  the  king,  saying, — 

'  '  King  .'  a  boon  we  crave  ! — forbid  it 
That  our  foemen  in  the  fight 
Wield  Tizona  and  Colada — 

Falchions  they  of  wondrous  might  I'  ' 

1  Nay,  Sir  Counts,'  replied  the  king,  '  I  can  grant  ye  none  of  this.  Ye  can 
equip  yourselves  in  what  arms  ye  please,  there  is  none  to  gainsay  ye.  Ye  are 
stout  and  stalwart ;  fight,  then,  with  valiant  hearts.' 

Our  limits  will  not  allow  us  to  give  the  details  of  the  battle.  The  result 
was  that  the  Cid's  warriors  were  victorious,  and,  according  to  a  letter  which 
the  king  wrote  to  him,  giving  a  full  description  of  the  combat,  one  of  the 
brothers  was  left  dead  on  the  field  ;  though  another  romance  agrees  with  the 
Chronicle  in  saying  that  they  all  escaped  with  their  lives,  but  were  so  covered 
with  shame  that  '  they  fled  from  the  land,  and  never  more  lifted  up  their 
heads.'  Pursuant  to  the  prevalent  but  absurd  notion  of  trial  by  combat,  that 
right  was  always  victorious,  the  six  judges  then  decreed  that  the  two  counts 
of  Carrion,  with  their  uncle  Suero  Gonzalez,  were  base  and  infamous  traitors, 
thenceforward  incapable  of  honor,  and  all  their  possessions  were  forfeited  to 
the  crown. 

The  three  victors  returned  to  Valencia,  to  the  very  great  joy  and  rejoicing 
of  the  Cid. 

'  Down  upon  his  knees  he  cast  him, 
And  his  hands  uprais'd  to  heaven, 
Praise  and  thanks  to  God  he  render'd 
For  the  vengeance  he  had  given.' 

"  He  grasped  his  beard,  and  cried,  '  I  thank  the  King  of  Heaven,  my  daugh- 
ters are  avenged  !'  He  hastened  to  inform  Ximena  and  his  daughters  of  the 
joyful  news.  Elvira  and  Sol  heard  the  tidings  with  manifestations  of  un- 
bounded delight,  ■  with  joy  as  great  as  joy  could  be.' 


260  THE    CID. 

'  Praise  and  thanks  to  God  they  render'd, 
Then  they  ran  with  haste  amain, 
Forth  to  greet  the  good  Bermudez 
And  his  valiant  comrades  twain. 

'  Eager  in  their  arms  they  caught  them, 
And  would  fain  their  hands  have  kiss'd, 
But  the  warriors  forbade  them, — 
Great  the  damsels'  joy,  I  wist.' 

After  this  the  nuptials  of  the  Cid's  daughters  were  celebrated  with  the 
Princes  of  Arragon  and  Navarre, — '  See  how  honor  floweth  to  him  who  in  a 
good  hour  was  born  !' — and  thus  the  Cid  became  the  progenitor  of  kings, 
'  sending,'  says  a  modern  traveller,  '  through  almost  every  royal  house  of 
Europe  a  vein  of  heroism  which  is  not  slow  to  proclaim  itself.' 


Eije  (Ettr.-part  lElebnttfl. 


'  That  when  dead  the  foe  he  routed, 
'Tis  no  folly  to  believe  ; 
For  to  whom  tbe  saints  sbow  favor 
All  is  easy  to  achieve.' 


We  now  come  to  the  closing  scenes  of  our  hero's  life.  When  he  had  re- 
tained possession  of  Valencia  for  five  years,  he  fell  sick,  worn  out  by  age  and 
the  fatigues  of  his  long  continued  warfare  with  the  Moors.  Tidings  were  at 
the  same  time  brought  him  that  the  Moorish  king  Bucar,  whom  he  had  before 
driven  from  the  plains  of  Valencia,  had  returned  to  the  siege  with  a  mighty 
force  of  horse  and  foot,  and  with  thirty  kings  in  his  alliance. 

'  Sorely  grieved  the  Cid  these  tidings, 
As  upon  his  bed  he  lay  ; 
Straight  he  pray'd  the  God  of  heaven 
For  protection  and  for  stay ; 


THE   CID.  261 

'  That  from  out  this  grievous  peril 
He  would  safe  his  servant  guide  , 
Thus  he  pray'd,  when  on  a  sudden, 
Lo  !  a  man  stood  at  his  side. 

'  There  he  stood  in  bright  apparel, 
Robed  in  raiment  white  as  snow, 
Scarce  the  Cid  his  face  could  gaze  on, 
For  so  dazzling  was  its  glow.' 

This  figure  proved  to  be  Saint  Peter,  sent  from  heaven  to  declare  to  the 
Cid  that  he  had  but  thirty  days  to  live  ;  for  at  the  expiration  of  that  time  he 
would  meet  the  saints  in  glory. 

* '  Dear  art  thou  to  God,  Rodrigo, 

And  this  grace  he  granteth  thee, 
When  thy  soul  hath  fled,  thy  body 

Still  shall  cause  the  Moors  to  flee  ', 
And,  by  aid  of  Santiago, 

Gain  a  glorious  victory.'  ' 

•  This,'  the  Saint  added,  «  God  hath  granted  to  my  prayers,  for  the  honor 
thou  hast  always  shown  to  my  house  and  altar  at  Cardena.'  With  these 
words  the  holy  Apostle  returned  to  heaven,  leaving  my  Cid  lost  in  praise  and 
thanksgiving. 

These  tidings  cheered  the  Cid's  heart  greatly,  and  he  straightway  made 
preparations  for  his  approaching  end.  Having  ordered  all  the  Moors  to  quit 
the  city  for  the  suburbs,  he  gathered  together  his  followers  in  the  church  of 
San  Pedro,  and  there  made  known  the  prophetic  vision  with  which  he  had 
been  honored  ;  then  having  charged  them  after  his  death  to  obey  the  com- 
mands of  Don  Geronymo,  the  bishop,  Alvar  Fafiez,  and  Pedro  Bermudez,  he 
took  a  solemn  farewell  of  all,  confessed  his  sins,  received  absolution,  and  re- 
turned to  his  palace.  Here  he  sickened  fast,  and  for  seven  days  before  his 
death  could  take  nothing  but  a  little  of  the  myrrh  and  balsam  he  had  received 
from  the  Sultan  of  the  East 

The  day  before  that  appointed  for  his  decease,  the  Cid  called  together  his 
wife  and  his  nearest  kinsmen  and  friends,  to  give  them  directions  how  to  act 

after  his  death  : 

'  '  First  when  that  my  soul  hath  left  it, 

Wash  my  body  clean  and  sweet ; 

Fill  it  next  with  myrrh  and  balsam, 

And  with  spices,  as  is  meet; 

Then  with  ointments  well  anoint  it 

From  the  head  unto  the  feet. 


262  THE   CID. 

'  Mourn  me  not,  my  dear  Ximena — 
Mourn  me  not,  ye  maids,  I  pray ; 
Lest  your  weeping  and  your  wailing 
To  the  foe  my  death  betray.'  ' 

Then  turning  to  Alvar  Fanez  and  Pedro  Bermudez,  his  kinsmen  and  com- 
panions in  arms,  he  said, — 

'  '  Should  the  Moorish  king  assail  ye, 
Call  your  hosts  and  man  the  wall  \ 
Shout  aloud,  and  let  the  trumpets 
Sound  a  joyful  battle-call. 

'  Meantime  then  to  quit  this  city 
Let  all  seeretly  prepare* 
And  make  all  your  chattels  ready 
Back  unto  Castile  to  bear. 

'  Saddle  next  my  Babieca, 

Arm  him  well  as  for  the  fight ; 
On  his  back  then  tie  my  body, 
In  my  well-known  armor  dight. 

'  In  my  right  band  place  Tizona ; 
Lead  me  forth  unto  the  war ; 
Bear  my  standard  fast  behind  me, 
As  it  was  my  wont  of  yore. 

'  Then,  Don  Alvar,  range  thy  warriors 
To  do  battle  with  the  foe; 
For  right  sure  am  I  that  on  ye 
God  will  victory  bestow.'  ' 

The  Cid  then  makes  his  will,  which  he  commences  in  this  manner, — 

'  '  He  who  spareth  no  man  living, 
Kings  or  nobles  though  they  be, 
At  my  door  at  length  hath  knocked, 
And  I  hear  him  calling  me. 

'  As  to  go  I  am  prepared, 

I  do  make  my  testament,'  '  &c. 

After  repeating  some  of  the  above  directions,  he  orders  that  Babieca,  when 
he  dies,  should  be  decently  and  carefully  buried,  '  that  no  dogs  may  eat  the 


the  cm  263 

flesh  of  him  who  hath  trodden  down  so  much  dogs'-flesh  of  Moors.'  His 
own  body  he  directs  to  be  borne  to  San  Pedro  de  Cardena,  and  there  buried 
under  a  bronze  monument  hard  by  the  altar  of  the  Holy  Fisherman,  as  he 
calls  St.  Peter.  He  forbids  any  female  mourners  to  be  hired  to  bewail  his 
death,  as  the  tears  of  Ximena  would  suffice  without  the  purchase  of  others. 
His  conscience  still  rebuking  him  for  the  deceit  he  had  practised  on  the  two 
Jews  who  had  lent  him  money  on  his  departure  into  exile,  he  bequeaths  them 
another  coffer  of  silver  ;  and  after  a  few  other  legacies,  he  leaves  the  rest  of 
his  property  to  be  distributed  among  the  poor.  Then  turning  to  his  friends, 
who  were  weeping  around  his  couch,  he  said, — 

'  '  Friends,  I  sorrow  not  to  leave  ye  ; 
If  this  life  an  exile  be, 
We  who  leave  it  do  but  journey 
Homeward  to  our  family.'  ' 

On  the  day  following  the  Cid  prayed  sore  to  heaven :  '  Oh  !  Lord  Jesus, 
thy  kingdom  is  over  all — all  rulers  are  in  thy  hands.  Thou  art  King  over  all 
kings,  and  Lord  over  all  lords.  I  beseech  thee,  seeing  thou  hast  given  me  so 
much  honor  and  glory,  and  so  many  victories  over  the  enemies  of  thy  holy 
faith,  to  be  pleased  to  pardon  all  my  sins,  and  take  my  spirit  to  thyself.'  Say- 
ing this,  he  gave  up  the  ghost.  He  died  in  the  year  1099,  in  the  seventy- 
fourth  year  of  his  age. 

Gil  Diaz,  his  faithful  servant,  a  Moor  by  birth,  but  a  convert  to  Christianity, 
fulfilled  all  his  instructions  with  regard  to  the  body,  and  gave  it  a  sitting  and 
upright  position,  by  placing  it  on  a  chair,  and  leaving  it  to  stiffen  between 
two  boards. 

On  the  twelfth  day  after  his  death  every  thing  was  in  readiness  for  the  de- 
parture of  the  Christians  from  Valencia.  It  was  the  hour  of  midnight  when 
they  led  forth  Babieca,  who  gazed  at  his  dead  lord  '  with  an  air  of  sorrow  more 
like  a  man  than  a  brute.'  They  strapped  the  body  firmly  down  to  the  saddle, 
and  tied  the  feet  to  the  stirrups.  His  helmet  and  armor  were  of  parchment, 
painted  so  as  to  resemble  steel.  A  shield  of  the  same,  marked  with  his  own 
device,  was  hung  about  his  neck,  and  his  beloved  Tizona  was  fixed  upright 
and  bare  in  his  right  hand  : 

'  There  he  sat  all  stiff  and  upright, 
So  Gil  Diaz  did  contrive ; 
He  who  had  not  known  the  secret, 
Would  have  deem'd  him  still  alive. 


>    264 


'  By  the  fitful  glare  of  torches 
Forth  they  go  at  dead  of  night ; 
Headed  by  their  lifeless  captain, 
Forth  they  march  unto  the  fight.' 

The  bishop  of  Valencia,  Don  Geronymo,  led  Babieca  by  one  rein,  and  Gil 
Diaz  by  the  other.  Pedro  Bermudez  led  the  van,  with  the  Cid's  banner  up- 
raised, guarded  by  four  hundred  knights  of  noble  birth.  Then  followed  the 
beasts  laden  with  the  baggage  under  a  similar  guard.  Next  came  the  Cid's 
body,  guarded  by  a  hundred  knights  ;  and  Ximena  and  her  women,  with  six 
hundred  knights,  brought  up  the  rear.  The  procession  moved  on  into  the 
plain 

'  All  so  silent  and  so  softly, 

That  there  seemed  not  twenty  there.' 

As  the  day  broke,  they  were  met  by  the  Moorish  hosts,  but  Alvar  Fanez 
assailed  them  with  great  fury. 

At  the  head  of  the  foe  rode  a  Moorish  woman,  called  '  the  Star,'  from  her 
great  skill  in  shooting,  and  by  the  Chronicle  termed  a  queen,  who  with  a 
hundred  female  companions,  like  the  Amazons  of  old,  did  great  execution  with 
their  long-bows.  Had  they  been  said  to  be  Spanish  Arabs,  at  that  period  the 
most  polished  and  chivalrous  race  in  Europe,  we  might  deem  this  account 
unworthy  of  credit ;  but  if  we  suppose  them  Africans,  as  we  are  at  liberty  to 
do,  considering  they  were  in  the  army  of  the  king  of  Morocco,  the  fact  loses 
all  improbability,  as  we  know,  from  the  Arabian  epic  of  ■  Antar,'  that  among 
the  tribes  of  the  desert  women  not  unfrequently  took  part  in  the  perils  of 
warfare,  martial  courage  being  regarded  as  one  of  the  female  virtues.  These 
heroines  were  all  conquered  and  slain  by  the  Christians. 

King  Bucar  and  his  thirty  royal  allies  were  astounded  at  beholding  what, 
through  a  miraculous  illusion,  seemed  to  their  eyes  a  prodigious  force  advan- 
cing against  them : 

'  Seventy  thousand  Christian  warriors, 
All  in  snowy  garments  dight, 
Led  by  one  of  giant  stature, 
Mounted  on  a  charger  white  ; 

'  On  his  breast  a  cross  of  crimson, 
In  his  hand  a  sword  of  fire, 
With  it  hew'd  he  down  the  Paynims, 
As  they  fled,  with  slaughter  dire.' 


THE   CID.  265 

This  terrible  warrior  was  no  other  than  Santiago,  or  St.  James,  who,  as 
foretold  by  St.  Peter,  was  to  lend  his  aid  to  the  Christians.  Panic-struck,  the 
Moors  fled  to  their  ships,  but  ten  thousand  were  drowned  in  the  attempt  to 
get  on  board,  and  multitudes  more  were  left  dead  on  the  field  of  battle.  King 
Bucar  himself  escaped,  but  twenty  of  his  confederate  kings  were  slain.  His 
camp  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Christians,  who  found  in  it  so  vast  a  spoil,  that 
the  poorest  that  entered  came  away  rich.  Thus  laden,  they  continued  their 
way  to  Castile  ;  and  wherever  they  halted  on  the  road,  they  took  the  Cid's 
body  from  Babieca's  back,  and  set  it  upright  on  a  wooden  horse  which  Gil 
Diaz  had  made  for  the  purpose. 

The  Moors  in  the  suburbs  of  Valencia,  who  had  beheld  the  rout  of  King 
Bucar  and  his  host,  remained  quiet  all  that  day  and  the  ensuing  night,  through 
fear  of  the  Christians,  but  having  neither  seen  nor  heard  them  return  to  the    I 
city,  they  marvelled  greatly,  and  on  the  following  morning  one  of  them  ven-    \ 
tured  to  ride  round  the  walls.     He  saw  no  warders  on  the  ramparts,  heard  no    \ 
clashing  of  arms  within,  and  found  every  gate  closed,  save  that  through  which    , 
the  Christians  had  gone  forth,  and  on  the  wall  he  found  a  paper  saying  that    | 
the  Cid  was  dead,  and  that  the  Christians  had  left  Valencia  to  the  Moors. 
Gnat  was  their  joy  to  return  within  its  walls. 


&f)e  mn.—tyavt  artoelttt). 


The  good  Ximena  had  sent  messengers  to  the  princes  of  Arragon  and  Na-  j 

varre,  her  sons-in-law,  as  well  as  to  the  other  kinsmen  of  the  Cid,  inviting  j 

them  to  come  and  do  his  body  honor.     Alvar  Fanez  proposed  that  before  they  \ 

came  the  body  should  be  put  into  a  coffin,  fastened  down  with  nails  of  gold,  \ 

and  covered  with  a  purple  pall ;  but  Ximena  would  not  listen  to  this,  saying  > 
that  his  daughters  would  rather  behold  him  as  he  was  : 

' '  My  Cid  hath  still  a  beauteous  visage, 
And  his  eyes  are  nothing  dim  ; 
Whilst  so  fresh  his  body  keepeth, 
•  'Twere  not  meet  *>  bury  him.' ' 

34 


;     266  THE   CID. 

As  the  procession  drew  nigh  to  Olmedo,  it  was  met  by  the  Cid's  daughters 
and  their  husbands.  All  the  Aragonese  knights  in  their  train  had  their  shields 
;  hanging  reversed  at  their  saddle-bows,  and  were  clad  in  black  cloaks  with  the 
;  hoods  rent,  according  to  the  Castilian  fashion  of  deep  mourning,  while  the 
ladies  were  arrayed  in  robes  of  black  serge.  They  would  have  wailed,  but 
Ximena  withstood  them,  as  the  Cid  himself  had  forbidden  it  Dona  Elvira 
and  Dona  Sol,  with  their  royal  husbands,  approached  the  body  of  their  father : 

1  Weeping  sore,  his  hands  they  kissed, 
Greatly  marvelling  at  the  sight ; 
For  no  dead  man  then  he  seemed, 
But  a  live  and  stalwart  knight.' 

All  joined  the  procession  as  it  continued  on  its  way  to  San  Pedro  de  Car- 
dena.  Thither  also  came  the  good  king  Alfonso,  to  do  honor  to  the  dead  hero, 
and  he  commanded  that  the  Cid's  body  should  not  be  buried  at  once,  but  should 
be  clad  in  rich  vestments  sent  him  by  the  Sultan,  and  be  set  hard  by  the  altar, 
on  the  seat  he  had  been  wont  to  use,  on  a  cushioned  cloth  of  gold,  with  his 
own  good  sword  Tizona  in  his  hand.    All  this  was  done,  and 

'  There  it  sat,  within  that  chapel, 
More  than  ten  long  years,  I  ween.' 

And  a  festival  was  held  each  year  in  honor  of  him,  who  •  though  dead,  hath 
a  name  that  ne'er  will  die.' 

On  one  of  these  yearly  festivals,  which  were  celebrated  at  San  Pedro  de 
Cardena,  whither  multitudes  flocked  from  every  part  of  Castile,  it  chanced 
that  a  Jew  entered  the  chapel  at  an  hour  when  no  one  else  was  within  its 
walls,  as  the  abbot,  by  reason  of  the  crowd,  was  preaching  to  the  people  with- 
out. There  he  beheld  the  Cid's  body  sitting  upright  on  his  seat,  with  his 
long  white  beard  hanging  down  on  his  bosom,  as  though  he  were  '  endowed 
with  great  gravity,  and  worthy  of  all  reverence ;'  his  left  hand  holding  the 
scabbard  of  his  sword,  and  his  right  the  strings  of  his  mantle.  This  august 
sight  failed  however  to  awe  the  unbeliever,  and  he  said  within  himself,  as  he 
gazed  on  the  dead  warrior : 

' '  Lo,  the  Cid !  this  is  his  body, 

Who  through  all  the  world  was  fear'd. 
I've  heard  say  in  his  lifetime 
None  did  ever  touch  his  beard. 


THE   CED.  267 

'  Come,  methinks  I  now  will  pluck  it — 
Nought  can  harm  me,  now  he's  dead. 
Forth  his  hand  the  Hebrew  stretched, 
As  these  impious  words  he  said. 

1  Ere  the  beard  his  fingers  touched, 
Lo,  the  silent  man  of  death 
Grasp'd  the  hilt,  and  drew  Tizona 
Full  a  span  from  out  the  sheath ! 

'  Deadly  fear  the  Hebrew  seized 
When  he  did  behold  this  sight — 
Down  he  fell  unto  the  earth 

Well  nigh  lifeless  with  affright.' 

And  there  he  was  found  by  some  of  the  congregation  who  entered  the 
church.  On  recovering  from  his  swoon,  he  recounted  what  had  past,  and 
gave  thanks  to  God  for  that  miracle,  which  wrought  his  immediate  conversion 
to  Christianity.  He  assumed  the  cowl  in  the  same  convent  of  Cardena,  and 
•  there  ended  his  days,  like  any  other  good  Christian.'  But  the  Jew's  word, 
if  we  may  believe  the  Chronicle,  was  not  the  only  voucher  for  this  miracle  ; 
from  that  day  forth  the  right  hand  of  the  dead  Cid  kept  firm  hold  of  the  hilt  of 
Tizona,  so  that  his  garments  could  no  more  be  changed  when  dirty,  as  had 
been  the  wont  before. 

At  the  end  of  ten  years,  the  tip  of  the  Cid's  nose  dropped  off;  whereon  the 
abbot  and  Gil* Diaz  thought  it  time  for  him  to  be  interred,  which  was  done 
accordingly  in  the  same  chapel ;  a  deep  pit  being  dug  before  the  high  altar, 
and  his  body  being  placed  upright  in  it,  on  his  own  chair,  as  it  had  sat  since 
his  death. 

Ximena  and  the  faithful  Gil  Diaz  spent  the  remainder  of  their  lives  in  the 
convent  of  San  Pedro,  watching  their  lord's  body ;  keeping  vigils  and  singing 
masses  for  the  benefit  of  his  soul.  Ximena  died  four  years  after  him,  but  Gil 
Diaz  lived  many  years  longer.  He  carefully  tended  Babieca  and  took  especial 
care  that  none  should  ever  mount  him  who  had  carried  the  Cid  for  forty-two 
years  ;  and  that  his  race  might  not  be  lost,  he  made  him  the  progenitor  of  the 
best  breed  of  horses  that  ever  existed  in  the  realm  of  Spain.  Babieca  died 
two  years  after  his  master,  and  was  buried  by  Gil  Diaz  before  the  gate  of  the 
monastery. 

The  remains  of  the  Cid  have  several  times  been  removed  in  the  course  of 
the  seven  centuries  and  a  half  which  have  elapsed  since  his  death,  the  last 
time  being  by  the  French  in  1809,  to  the  Espolon  or  public  promenade  of 


268 


THE    CID. 


Burgos,  but  in  1826  they  were  restored  with  great  solemnity  to  their  original 
resting-place  in  the  convent  of  San  Pedro  de  Cardena. 

In  the  centre  of  a  small  chapel  called  '  the  chapel  of  kings,  counts,  and 
illustrious  men,'  now  stands  the  monument  containing  the  remains  of  our 
hero  and  « his  wife  so  perfect,  whom  he  loved  as  his  own  soul,'  as  says  the 
Poem.  Their  effigies  in  marble  repose  above,  side  by  side.  On  a  tablet  be- 
low is  a  Latin  inscription  in  doggerel  hexameters,  saying  that  '  as  Rome  was 
honored  by  the  warlike  deeds  of  her  heroes,  as  King  Arthur  was  the  glory  of 
the  Britons,  and  Charlemagne  of  the  French,  so  is  Spain  no  less  ennobled  by 
her  unconquered  Cid.'  The  walls  of  this  chapel  are  thickly  covered  with 
painted  escutcheons,  to  each  of  which  some  name  is  attached,  serving  as  the 
epitaph  of  the  person  whose  remains  lie  enclosed  in  the  wall  at  that  spot. 
Here  you  read  the  name  of  the  Cid's  great  ancestor,  Lain  Calvo,  the  first 
judge  of  Castile — of  his  father  Diego  Lainez,  and  mother  Dona  Teresa- — of 
the  proud  Count  of  Gormaz,  who  fell  by  his  maiden  sword.  Here  are  also 
interred  our  hero's  two  daughters  Elvira  and  Sol,  together  with  their  royal 
husbands  of  Navarre  and  Arragon  ;  and  his  only  son  Diego  Rodriquez,  of 
whom  no  mention  is  made  by  the  romances,  but  who  died  at  an  early  age, 
fighting  by  his  father's  side  against  the  Moors  of  Consuegra.  Here  also  lies 
the  dust  of  the  Cid's  brave  companions  in  arms — of  Alvar  Fanez  Minaya,  his 
first  cousin,  whom  he  was  wont  to  call  'his  right  arm,  his  better  arm  ;'  of 
Martin  Antolinez,  Pedro  Bermudez,  and  Ordono,  his  nephews  ;  of  Martin 
Pelaez,  the  Asturian  ;  and  of  others  of  his  captains  whose  names  we  have 
not  recorded. 

Over  the  principal  entrance  to  the  convent  is  a  mounted  figure  of  the  Cid, 
larger  than  life,  and  painted  striking  the  Moors  to  the  ground  beneath  the 
feet  of  Babieca.  It  was  sadly  mutilated  during  the  War  of  Independence. 
Since  the  suppression  of  the  monastic  orders  in  Spain,  in  1835,  the  convent 
has  been  uninhabited,  save  by  a  man  who  keeps  it  in  order,  and  who,  happily 
for  the  visitor,  is  deeply  read  in  the  Cid's  history.  It  stands  about  six  or 
seven  miles  to  the  east  of  Burgos,  in  the  midst  of  a  bleak  and  dreary  coun- 
try, but  which  is  yet  not  unfertile,  as  it  is  in  many  parts  covered  with  corn. 
The  village  of  Bivar  lies  about  the  same  distance  to  the  north  of  Burgos. 
We  did  not  visit  it  when  recently  at  that  city,  but  heard  that  some  remains 
of  the  Cid's  castle  are  still  standing.  The  site  of  the  house  in  Burgos  in 
which  the  Cid  was  born  is  marked  by  three  obelisks  bearing  escutcheons  and 
a  commemorative  inscription,  which  informs  us  that  '  these  monuments  were 
raised  on  the  ancient  ruins  of  his  family  mansion  in  the  year  1784.'  This, 
and  the  chest  already  spoken  of  as  preserved  in  the  cathedral,  are,  we  be- 


269 


lieve,  the  only  relics  pertaining  to  the  Cid  now  to  be  seen  in  Burgos  ;  but 
we  must  not  forget  that  his  statue  has  a  prominent  place  as  'the  dread  and 
terror  of  the  Moors,'  in  the  quaint  gateway  of  Santa  Maria,  erected  by 
Charles  V.  to  the  memory  of  the  heroes  of  Burgos. 

It  may  be  remembered  by  the  readers  of  •  Don  Quixote'  that  the  Manchegan 
knight  speaks  of  Babieca's  saddle  being  preserved  in  the  Royal  Armory  at 
Madrid.  We  were  there  a  few  months  since,  but  saw  no  such  saddle,  only 
the  suit  of  armor  mentioned  in  a  former  article  as  belonging  to  the  Cid,  but 
which  is  evidently  of  later  date  by  several  centuries  ;  and  a  sword  which  is 
called  Colada,  but  of  which,  judging  from  the  hilt,  we  think  the  same  maybe 
said.  We  had  no  opportunity  of  examining  it,  but  Southey  states  that  on 
one  side  of  the  blade  is  graven,  '  Yes,  yes,'  on  the  other,  '  No,  No.'  '  Tizona,' 
according  to  the  same  authority,  '  is  an  heir-loom  in  the  family  of  the  Marquis 
of  Falces.'  On  one  side  of  the  blade  is  engraved,  'I  am  Tizona,  made  in 
era  1040,'  i.  e.  a.  d-  1002 ;  on  the  other,  '  Hail,  Mary,  full  of  grace !' 

In  concluding  our  sketch  of  the  Cid's  history,  we  must  state  our  regret 

that  the  necessity  we  have  all  along  felt  of  curtailing  and  condensing  our 

matter  as  much  as  possible,  has  prevented  us  from  dealing  with  the  subject 

las  it  deserved.     Yet  we  think  our  readers  will  allow  that  these  ballads  of  the 

\  Cid,  though  seen  through  the  medium  of  our  defective  translation,  are  far 

J  from  deserving  the  sweeping  condemnation  of  Dr.  Southey,  that '  the  greater 

1  part  of  them  are  utterly  worthless.'     Among  the  nearly  two  hundred  which 

1  are  extant,  there  are  certainly  some  of  little  value  or  interest,  but  we  are 

[  satisfied  that  few  who  read  them  in  the  original  will  allow  that  this  is  charac- 

J  teristic  of  the  mass,  and  that  not  a  few  will  say,  with  Mr.  Lockhart,  that  they 

jhave  derived  great  pleasure  from  the  perusal.     In  fact,  those  only  who  so 

[read  them  can  adequately  admire  them,  for,  to  adopt  the  words  of  a  modern 

i  critic  on  the  early  poetry  of  Spain,  '  Spanish  literature  is  of  all  others  that 

^  which  can  be  least  appreciated  by  extracts  or  translations.     Its  excellence 

j  consists  not  in  insulated  beauties,  but  in  that  noble  national  spirit  which,  like 

t  a  great  connecting  principle,  pervades  and  harmonizes  the  whole.' 


END   OF    THE    ROMANCE    OF    THE    CID. 


FERNANDO  DEL 
CASTILLO. 


PEDRO    DE    FLORES. 


MIGUEL    DE   MADRIGAL. 

ANONYMOUS. 
THOMAS   RODD. 


C.    B.    DEPFING. 


J$  fib  Hour  ajpfjg. 


Cancionero  general  d^los  mas  principales  trobadores 
de  Espana,  compilado  del  Fernado  del  Castillo,; 
folio,  Valentia  de  Arragon,  1510. ( 

Cancionero  general  :  que  contiene  muchas  obras  de 
diuersos  autores  antiguos,  con  algunas  cosas 
nuevas  de  modernos,  de  nueuo  corregido  y  im- 
presso,  8vo.  Antwerp,  1557. 

Romancero  general,  en  que  se  contienen  todos  los 
Romances  que  andan  impressos  en  las  nueve 
partes  de  Romanceros,  4to.  Medina  de  Campo,  1602. 

Romancero  general,  en  que  se  contienen  todos  los\ 
Romances  que  andan  impressos,  aora  nuevamente 
anadido  y  emendado,  4to.  Madrid,  1604. 

This  edition  is  more  complete  than  that  of  1602. 

El  Mismo,  aora  anadido  y  emendado  por  Pedro  de 
Flores,  4to.  Madrid,  1614. 

Segunda  parte  del  Romancero  general,  y  flor  de  di-> 
versa  poesia,  recopilados  por  Miguel  de  Madrigal, 
4to.  Valladolid,  1605* 

Poesias  escogidas  de  nuestros  Cancioneros  y  Roman- 
ceros antiguos,  Madrid,  1796. 

Ancient  Ballads  from  the  Civil  Wars  of  Granada  and 
the  Twelve  Peers  of  France,  by  Thos.  Rodd,  8vo. 

London,  1801. 

The  History  of  Charles  the  Great  and  Orlando,  as- 
cribed to  Archbishop  Turpin  ;  translated  from  the 
Latin  in  Spanheim's  Lives  of  Ecclesiastical  Wri- 
ters ;  together  with  the  most  celebrated  Ballads 
relating  to  the  Twelve  Peers  of  France  :  by  Thos. 
Rodd,  2  vols.  8vo.  London,  1812. 

Saramlung  der  besten  alten  Spanischen  Historischen 
Ritter-  und  Maurischen  Romanzen.  Geordnet  und 
mit  Anmerkungen  und  einer  Einleitung  versehen, 
von  Ch.  B.  Depping,  &c,  12mo. 

Altenburg  und  Leipzig,  1817. 


C.   B.   DEPPING. 


JUAN   DE    ESCOBAR. 
BOHL    DE    FABER. 

F.    DIEZ. 
AN0NFM0US. 

B.   PANDIN. 
AUGUSTIN  DURAN. 


JAC.   GRIMM. 

JOHN   BOWRING. 
J.  G.   LOCKHART. 


Colleccion  de  los  mas  celebres  Romances  Antiguos 
Espanoles,  Historicos  y  Caballerescos,  publicada 
por  C.  B.  Depping,  y  ahora  considerablemente  ern- 
inendada  por  un  Espanol  Reiugiado,  2  tcm.  16mo. 

London,  1825. 
This  edition  has  the  merit  of  being  murh  more  correctly 
printed  than  its  prototype,  nnd  the  editor  has,  besides  trans- 
lating Depping's  notes  into  Spanish,  added  several  new  ones 
of  his  own. 

Roraancero  del  Cid  Ruy  Diaz,  en  language  antiguo, 
recopiladopor  Juan  de  Escobar,  12mo.  Madrid,  1818. 

Floresta  de  Rimas  Antiguas  Castellanas,  ordenada 
por  Don  Juan  Nicolas  Bohl  de  Faber,  de  la  Real 
Academia  Espanola,  3  torn.  8vo. 

Hamburgo,  1821-1825. 

Alt-Spanische  Romanzen,  ubers.  von  F.  Diez,  2  vols. 
8vo.  Frankfurt,  1818-21. 

Spanische  Romanzen  aus  der  fruhern  Zeit,  8vo. 

Aarau,  1822. 

Spanische  Romanzen,  iibersetz  von  B.  Pandin,  12mo. 

Berlin,  1823. 

Romancero  de  Romances  Moriscos,  compuesto  de  to- 
dos  los  de  esta  clase  que  contiene  el  Romancero 
General,  imprese  en  1614,  por  Don  Augustin  Duran, 
8vo.  Madrid,  1828. 

Romancero  de  romances  doctrinales,  amatorios,  fes- 
tivos,  jocosos,  satiricos  y  burlescos,  sacados  de  va- 
rias  colecciones  generales,  y  de  las  obras  de  di- 
versos  poetas  de  los  siglos  xv.  xvi.  y  xvii.  por  D. 
Augustin  Duran,  small  8vo.  Madrid,  1829. 

Canciero  y  Romancero  de  Coplas  y  canciones  de  arte 
menor,  letras,  letrillas,  romances  cortos  y  glosas, 
sagados  por  D.  Augustin  Duran,  8vo. 

Madrid,  1829. 

Romancero  de  romances  caballerescos  e  historicos 
anteriores  al  siglo  xviii.  que  contiene  lo6  de  amor, 
los  de  la  Fabla  redonda,  los  de  Carlo  Magno  y  los 
doce  Pares,  los  de  Bernardo  del  Carpio,  del  Cid 
Campeador,  de  los  infantes  de  Lara,  etc.,  ordenado 
y  recopilado  por  D.  Augustin  Duran,  2  part,  small 
8vo.  Madrid,  1832. 

Silva  de  Romances  viejos  Espanoles,  publicada  por 
Jac.  Grimm,  12mo.  Vienna,  1831. 

Contains  69  romances. 

Ancient  Poetry  and  Romances  of  Spain,  selected  and 
translated  by  John  Bowring,  8vo.       London,  1824. 

Ancient  Spanish  Ballads,  historical  and  romantic, 
translated,  with  notes,  by  J.  G.  Lockhart,  4to. 

London,  1841. 


272 


BIBLIOGRAPHY. 


J.  G.    LOCKHAET. 


V.  A.  HUBER. 
F.  M.  DUTTBNHOFER. 
J.  G.  VON  HERDER. 

D.  E.  DE  OCHOA. 

ROBT.    SOUTHEV,  LL.  D. 

ANONYMOUS. 
F.   BOUTERWECK. 


SISMONDI    (j.    C.    L.    SI- 
MONDE    DE) 


A.    ANAYA. 


Ancient  Spanish  Ballads,  historical  and  romantic, 
translated,  with  notes,  by  J.  G.  Lockhart,  8vo. 

New- York,  1841. 

Re-prinfe<l  from  the  above,  with  the  addition  of  an  Intro- 
ductory Essay  on  the  origin,  antiquity,  character  and  influ-  '-\i 
en>  e  of  the  ancient  ballads  of  Spain,  and  an  Analysis  of  the 
romance  of  the  Cid,  with  specimens. 

Geschichte  des  Cid  Ruy  Diaz  Campeador  von  Bivar, 
nach  den  Quellen  beaibeitet  von  V.  A.  Huber, 
8vo.  Bremen,  1829. 

Der  Cid,  ein  Romanzen-Kranz.  Im  Versmaasse  der 
Urschrift  aus  der  (Span,  vollstandig  iibers.  v.  F.  M. 
Duttenhofer,  8vo.  Stuttgart,  1833. 

Der  Cid,  nach  Spanischen  Romanzen  besungen, 
neue  unverand.  Auflage,  16mo.       Stuttgart,  1832. 

The  Same,  beautifully  illustrated  with  70  plates,  after 
designs  by  Neureuther,  royal  8vo.  Stuttgart,  1839.  J 

Tesoro  de  los  Romanceros  y  Cancioneros  Espanoles,  g 
historicos,  caballerescos,  moriscos  y  otros  por  D.  E.  o 
de  Ochoa,  8vo.  Paris,  1838.  I 

Chronicle  of  the  Cid  Rodrigo  Diaz  de  Bivar,  the  1 
Campeador,  from  the  Spanish,  by  Robert  Southey,  | 
LL.  D.,  4to.  London,  1808.   j 

Ancient  Spanish  Romances  with  English  versions,  2  I 
vols.  8vo.  London,  18 — .  1 

Historia  de  la  literatura  Espanola,  traducida  al  cas-  I 
tellano  y  adicionada  por  Don  Jose  Gomez  de  la  I 
Cortina  y  D.  Nicolas  Hugalde  y  Mollinedo,  small  j 
8vo.  Madrid,  1829.   I 

This  translation  is  much  to  be  preferred  to  the  German  I 

text,  '  Geschichte  der  Poesie  und  Beredsamkeit,  Gottingen,  J 

1801-12,'  from  the  numerous  literary,  biographical  and  biblio-  S 
graphical  notices  added  by  the  translator. 

De  la  Litterature  du  midi  de  l'Europe,  nouvelle  edi-  | 
tion  (3me),  revue  et  corrigee,  4  vols,  in  8vo. 

Paris,  1829. 

Essay  on  Spanish  Literature,  followed  by  a  History 
of  the  Spanish  Drama,  and  specimens  of  the  dif- 
ferent ages,  by  A.  Anaya,  12mo.         London,  1818. 

Foreign  Quarterly  Review,  No.  7,  Art.  3,  Ancient 
National  Poetry  of  Spain. 

Edinburgh  Review,  January,  1841,  No.  146,  Art.  4,  jj 
Lockhart's  Spanish  Ballads. 

Penny  Magazine,  New  Series,  1841,  Art.  The  Ro- 
mances of  Spain — The  Cid. 
This  series  of  articles  forms  part  of  the  present  volume. 

Longfellow,  Henry  W.,  Outre  Mer.  (Vol.  2,)  2  vols. 
12rno.  New-York,  1835. 

FINIS. 


P<3 


THE  LIBRARY 
b'AG  (        UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 


£4-   B2 


Santa  Barbara 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW. 




CIRC 

JAN  2  6  '62 

OCT  261964 


20»i-8,'61(C2084s4)476 


3  1205  00326  4551 


^P 


^ 


A    001393  203 


